In a couple of weeks, the people I went to public school with will be celebrating their 30th high school reunion (as readers know, I've already had mine). To be honest, of the 450 people that I would have graduated with had I stayed there, I only remember five. Recently I commented on one of those friends FB page; that night there was a message from another classmate who clearly remembered me but of whom I had no recollection. The other night I couldn't sleep, thanks to a midday latte, and I found myself looking in the basement for my 9th grade yearbook. Even with the photo as a prompt, this person's name wasn't ringing any of those memory bells! (take that, Thing Two: I don't have perfect memory of everyone and everything)
Reading the comments was interesting. Some were unreadable, because thin pen over a photo doesn't lend itself to reading. Most were of the "you're a good kid... have a good summer..." variety. So yes, I was a loser with few friends back then. There were a few "we had so much fun in [subject] class - never forget [name of teacher]". If my life depended on it I can't remember that teacher, or the class in which I apparently had fun! And then there were the comments that scared me.
Scared me how? Reading between the lines, back then I was smart, assertive, and hell on wheels. Plus ça change, right? Aren't we supposed to grow and change as we get older?
I mentioned this to Thing One, who said "I wouldn't say hell on wheels - you're more like purgatory on a unicycle." Maybe in another 30 years, I'll be "limbo in Topsiders." Certainly a goal to strive for.