I have gone home to the Central Coast of California many times since I moved away in 1993. But I didn’t feel like I had really gone back home until I went back last week for the 20 year high school reunion. This time I realized this place where I grew up is all of me. It’s everything that made me who I am, and at the same time my life is so different, so foreign to the person I was when I drove out of town January 8, 1993, refusing to feel sad or look in my rear view mirror. I left everyone I’d known, and I found so many great people to add to my circle since then.
But at the reunion I realized that going home is not about the place, but the people. I didn’t feel home because my family was gone, and I didn’t see anyone who I grew up with. On my visits, I always saw my best friend, the beach, a Nardonne’s pizza with extra cheese, and a burrito from TAs. But now, at the reunion, I realized I was surrounded by my people, those who knew me when I was a little kid, the ones who called me Squirt, or TB, or Shorty, or Wembley (there’s a story and it’s a camp name, you’d have to be a Camp Hapitok survivor to understand). On Facebook and at the reunion, these are my people from way back when. Shannon, my kindergarten friend. Tricia, my first friend in my life, who liked to play Love Boat and never let me be anybody good like Isaac the bartender or Gopher. Jackie, who played with Barbies with me in her backyard and remembers throwing them in the bushes when my brother Tom rode by on his bicycle with his best friend Doug, teasing us for being such babies. Cindy, whose mom sent us off to day camp with peanut butter and honey sandwiches and Capri suns, and whose little brother couldn’t say truck without sounding like he was saying fuck. Angela, who hosted campfire girls and had rabbits in her backyard. Becky, who did ballet, tap and tumbling with me and always had the best Halloween costume ideas. Jill, who talked so much she once sprained her tongue. Alyssa, who surfed and had a trampoline, and who always told the best stories. Eric, my first kiss and date (Urban Cowboy at the Bay Theater, tickets: 99 cents). Anouk, who couldn’t find her house on the afternoon of her first day of school and asked me to walk home with her, then offered me Hanson’s grapefruit soda and called me Tamalpias. Ginny, the coolest friend who coached our softball team and drank a lot of Sunkist and vodka with me (shh, don’t tell my mom). Susie, who was going to write a novel called Passion in the Sand after college. She taught me what real friendship and true humor was.
My history is intertwined with their history. Their families became my own. How do you say that to someone at a reunion without sounding like a weirdo? Or a sentimental drunk idiot? How do you say, “you helped me survive, grow up, be funny, have a great childhood…” at a reunion? Especially with 80’s music blaring in the background? You can’t. You apologize to Randy for telling him in 3rd grade that waving his middle finger at Mrs. Wolf meant “I like you.” I mean, I didn’t think he would actually do it, let alone remember it 30 years later. You shut up, have another drink, and dance. You cover your friend while she shoves Madonna Inn goblets into her bag. Ah well. What can I say? These are my people. They will always be my people.
So ya, the reunion rocked. In the end, as I was dancing with my friends and watching the boys pop to Michael Jackson songs, I thought, I am perfectly content with my life. I didn’t matter what words I found to describe what I did for a living, it didn’t matter that I still haven’t written my novel and been a guest on the Today Show. The last 20 years were awesome. I have no regrets. And I am working on a list of things to accomplish and experience in the next 20 years. 89! 89! 89! Awesome! Rad! Bitchen’! Rowdies in the front, let me hear you grunt! Rowdies in the back, show me where it’s at! Okay, I’ll stop.
1 Comment
July 7, 2009 at 8:43 am
What a wonderful recounting of a reunion. Congrats on finding your people in yourself….