20th High School Reunion Trip Report

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I got a jump start on my reunion via Facebook. In the weeks leading up to the event, I was able reconnect with some long lost friends.  Some had followed my adventures in Las Vegas and the WSOP, and more than a few had read my pre-reunion post and left me kind and thoughtful responses.   This alone quelled many of my most serious anxieties, but I was not without stress as I left Dallas, Texas early Friday morning. 

My trip started gloriously as I found my seat on the airplane and realized I had a window seat and both seats to myself.  I cannot remember the last time I had an open seat next to me on a plane.  Good start.

When I landed in Columbia, I was instantly reminded I was in a small town. I love the Columbia airport.  I have been in airports around the world, and I always find them to be stressful places.  Everything is always rushed and manic, but the Columbia airport is quite peaceful.  No one seems rushed or stressed.  There are no lines and it's clean.  I found myself strolling through the terminal and kindly greeted at the car rental counter with, “What brings you to our fine town?”

“20^th high school reunion,” I replied

“That’s great! Are you nervous?”

“Do I look nervous?”

‘Steve’ paused while considering my mental state before he said, “Nope.  You look fine.  You look like the kind of guy who has the world by the tail.” 

He handed me the keys to my Hyundai Elantra, and I walked away wondering if you are supposed to tip the car rental counter guy.  “A guy who has the world by the tail.”  Huh?  Not how I felt, but something to consider.

As I stepped outside, my first thought was, “Humidity, oh yeah, I remember humidity.”  It felt good.  The air felt and smelled familiar.  I don’t know if anyone else has had this experience, but the smell was very distinct.  Not stinky, not overwhelming, but it smelled like… well… “home.”  It must be a mixture of humidity, pine and sand that is very distinctly the ‘Parfum de Columbia.’ The sense of smell has strong links to the memory centers in your brain.  Just think about how certain smells can evoke strong memories -- like the smell of your grandma’s house.  This part of your brain is also associated with your emotional centers, so I was not surprised that this distinct odor, while not eliciting any specific memory, put me in a different place emotionally.  I was immediately calmed.  It was if I was wrapped in a familiarity of sights and smells that said, "Relax...this is home, you are a part of this place.” 

At this point, I have to make a decision whether or not to use names in this blog. If I start naming names, I may inadvertently leave someone out or accidentally offend someone.  So I will allude to certain people, and those who know who they are will know, while those who don’t can try to guess.   Some people’s identity will be very obvious.

I had arranged to have lunch on Friday with my oldest childhood friend.  When we were growing up, we spent almost every free moment together.  It got to the point where his parents were “mom and dad number 2.”  But as often happens, as we moved into high school, we grew apart.  While we, in our hearts, considered each other brothers, we slowly drifted into different arenas.  Even at the time, we were aware what was happening, and we were regretful.  But still it happened.  We have reconnected as adults, but distance and busy schedules have prevented us from spending time together.  Therefore, we excitedly looked forward to our lunch date. 

I drove out of the airport and found my way to the northeast side of town and realized things have changed a great deal in 20 years.  I didn’t even recognize where I was. Think about it like this: when you see your kids every day, you know they are growing, but it's gradual and not dramatic.  But when you see relatives at the holidays, they exclaim, “Oh, they are growing up so fast!”  That was my reaction, “Oh, Columbia, you have grown up so much in 20 years!”

I pull into Sandhill Station and embrace my friend (no handshakes this weekend I decide... I’m a hugger).  We sit and talk for about two hours.  He catches me up a bit on the local gossip, but mostly we talk about family.  We talk about how grateful we are for our wives and our children.  We talk about how we got to where we are in our careers.  We talk about how unimportant financial success or social status is to us.  We talk about how our focus is on ensuring our children are happy and healthy and grow to be good people.  We talk about the importance of giving and receiving kindness.  We talked as long as we could before work pressures called him away.  We promised to meet up again later. 

I had made arrangements to stay with another friend at his father’s house, but he had yet to get into town.  So with a few hours on my hands, I decide to take the nostalgia tour.  I drove the old neighborhood and checked out the rebuilt Spring Valley High (kinda of made me sad to see no pods).  As I drove through the neighborhood, a flood of emotions coursed through me.  One of the memories I had was of tramping all over the neighborhood.  We had what seemed to be boundless territory to cover.  Very few fences existed to keep us in as we explored our little world.  We didn’t need them.  We were safe, independent and resourceful.  I was struck, however, by how my perceptions were skewed by either time or age.  The best example I can give is when I looked at the “hill.”  You know the one.  The big one in your neighborhood that scared the bejeezus out of you when you came to it on your bike.  The one you had to build up the nerve to go down.  The one that left me with very obvious, very permanent physical scarring on my left shoulder (and probably some deep emotional scarring).  It turns out... that hill is not very big at all.  It is not long, and it is not steep.  My mind’s eye remembered this thing like it was a quarter mile long with a 60 degree incline.  There is no way I was this much of a wimp.  It’s quite embarrassing.  I know the tectonic plates move slowly and mountains and valley are usually built over millions and millions of years of erosion, but apparently in this part of the world, the geologic process is sped up and giant man-killing hills can shrink in 20 year’s time.

I still had a bit of time so I rejoined my boyhood friend and his lovely wife for a drink before heading over to meet up with my housemate for the weekend.  A bit more reminiscing, and I was off again.  I met up with my other friend.  We lived in the same neighborhood growing up, and ours was a relationship that grew deeper and stronger as we progressed in school.  Even though we attended separate universities, we had placed the same kind of pressure on ourselves.  And though we had similar goals to begin, we have ended up in very different professions.  He is the only one who I have been in constant contact with since the good old days. He also was my link to everyone else, as he has stayed connected while I have not.

We quickly freshen up and head out to dinner at a nearby restaurant where we are meeting up with two of my former wrestling teammates and their wives.  It doesn’t take long before we start in on old stories.  Many of them now don’t include me, as they have stayed in touch and stayed together in the years post high school and post college.  But we do tell some of the old ones, and I am struck by the realization that my friends have much better recall than I do.  Their description of the details of events are crazy.  I am not able to remember the events in the level of detail that they do.  And then it hit me as to why.  I have not had the chance to retell these stories over the years.  Who would I tell?  No one -- outside of them  -- would be interested to hear.  They have, over the years, told these stories back and forth and as a result, have solidified the memories.  Or maybe I’m just aging faster, and my memory is failing.  Who knows?  With a head start on social lubrication (alcohol), we head to the first official event of the reunion. 

As we pulled up to Icy’s Sports Bar and Grill, the apprehension that had faded throughout the day now returned.  I’m not sure why, but the nervousness welled up inside of me.  From what I have gathered, from comments responding to my previous blog (and from comments over the weekend), people’s perception of me and my perception of myself are not in concert.  But my social phobia is well entrenched.  I am fine in small groups, and I do well in social situations with people I know well.  However, walking into this bar with so many people -- most of which I don’t know well -- and expecting to have to be social, is one of the most terrifying prospects I can imagine.  One of my biggest fears was that I wouldn’t recognize someone that I should recognize.  Well, as we came through the door, my fear was immediately realized as someone approached me with a big smile and open arms saying, “Craig, it is so good to see you!”  I quickly put my brain in overdrive trying to come up with a name.  I analyzed the height, the hair color, the face, the walk and the voice -- nothing.  I slowed down the approach to delay the hug as long as I could, and finally came up with:

“Hey……'You'…..it’s been a long time (now in full embrace), how have 'Ya' been?” 

Released from the embrace, staring face-to-face, still no recognition.  An awkward pause...“You don’t recognize me?”  she said. 

“Yeah, well, um, you know, uh, ….no I’m sorry, I don’t. I’m sorry, it’s been a long time and I…”

“It’s me!” 

“Oh, yeah!, Well of course…It is clearly… you….um...”

Finally, she ended the torture and told me her name.  This is not a good start.  I knew I should have spent a few days studying my old yearbook and stalking Facebook photos.  Things got better once I got to the bar and quickly recognized a few friends like Stella, Bud and Miller.  Things did improve.  It turns out I cultivated a bit of a Facebook following with my recent World Series of Poker exploits.  It certainly helped having a conversation starter.  Not ever conversation was memorable, but I did enjoy myself and felt I had a good start to the weekend.  So with many salutations uttered and many libations consumed, we head out promising to talk more tomorrow.

Night one down.  Overall I would give my performance a B-.  But this was just the appetizer.  The main course is Saturday night. 

Saturday morning, we are playing cards.  It is the third annual North Springs Poker Open Championship and I have a seat at the table with eight other Spring Valley graduates.  Here is the line-up:

Seat 1 is yours truly with quite a bit of poker experience

Seat 2 is a plastic surgeon with a pretty good poker mind but not a lot of experience

Seat 3 is a pediatrician with not a lot of experience – at least from what I could tell based on how he played

Seat 4 is our host who seems to be a pretty good player who got a bit unlucky early on

Seat 5 is a dentist who might have be the least experienced player at the table, not the worst, but the least experienced

Seat 6 is a lawyer who plays a bit of poker, but had what I will call an un-orthodox style (pun intended)

Seat 7 is a tax auditor who has experience playing in big time tournaments – by far the most serious player at the table

Seat 8 is the organizer of this little event – earlier this summer, he cashed in a WSOP preliminary event

Seat 9 is a web designer/media consultant/comedian who is a solid player

It is 9:00 a.m. -- way too early to be playing poker unless you are still up playing from the night before.  I settle in and figure I will be donating an easy $100 to someone else’s bankroll, as I have never won money playing poker with friends.  As we begin to play, I feel a little pressure to show some pretty high-level poker, but when I decided that it would be a good idea to raise out of the big blind with 10 4 offsuit and then go all in when I flop an open ended straight draw, I found myself reaching into my pocket for a re-buy.  Like I said, I’m just here to donate.  It was a very social game, with loads of table banter (mostly provided by a local prominent web designer/comedian) and some questionable decisions (mostly provided the prominent lawyer).  In the end, it came down to the Surgeon and the Comedian playing for the money and the gold bracelet (yes, there was actually a gold bracelet).  When the dust settled, all the glory, bragging rights and gold accessories went to the Comedian (along with a nice little pay day.)  I left $100 lighter, but filled with priceless fellowship.

Lunch and nap preceded the big event.

Getting ready to head downtown I stress out about ‘Business Casual.’  What does that mean?  I teach school, so what does business casual mean to me?  Is business casual the same in Columbia as I would interpret it in Dallas?  I take a quick poll and reach a consensus that khakis and a nice shirt is good.  No tie and no jacket.  And we are off.

We head downtown to the Convention Center (when I lived here, there was no convention center that I remember).  As we entered and rounded the corner, the first person I see is a wrestling teammate of mine with whom most people would most closely associate me.  He and I shared the ups and downs of competition for four years.  We spent hours thinking about food, but not eating it.  We spent hours training and torturing ourselves.  We traveled countless miles to sit in gyms all day and beat our bodies to a pulp in pursuit of excellence.  We had celebrated championships together and cried with each other when we fell short.  I’m not sure anyone else really knows what we when through.  We approach and he extends his hand, which I ignore as I go in for the hug.  It's been a long time.  We had stayed in touch through most of college, but slowly drifted apart.  I blame myself.  There was an actual falling out at some point, but I cannot remember the circumstance.  I am sure I was at fault.  I got a little too self involved most likely.  But I hope that now that we are reacquainted we can maintain contact.  I think it would be fun to have a return trip to Myrtle Beach with the boys.  I little mini-reunion of our own, now that we can we can drink legally and actually fear being hungover.

The details of the rest of the evening are fairly predictable.  Many similar conversations recapping current hometown, occupation and family status.  I am not discounting any of these conversations as I thoroughly enjoyed them.  I was genuinely happy to hear everyone’s story.  Each was meaningful for me, but wouldn’t be very entertaining or insightful for this blog.  So I will highlight only four of the more interesting moments that, in many ways, represent a microcosm of a typical high school night out for me. Again I will try to protect identities as much as possible.

So here we go... 

-- I was told I was cute (but with a twist).  Now this might seem vain or like a bit of bragging on my part, but when I was in middle school and through high school I had from time to time been told I was “cute.”  Understand that as a guy, I did not want to be “cute.”  Puppy dogs are “cute.”  Babies are “cute.”  Little old men are “cute.”  I wanted to be handsome or rugged like an action hero, not “cute.”  Girls didn’t date “cute”.  They were friends with “cute,” but they didn’t date “cute.”  Trust me. I know.  But this time there is a twist to the story.  So, after the third person said to me, “Oh Craig, is that you?  I remember you.  You ‘USED’ to be so cute.”  I finally couldn’t take it. 

I replied (faking true annoyance), “Why does everyone keep saying ‘USED’ to be?  What is with this past tense nonsense?  Am I not ‘cute’ anymore?” 

She laughed and said, “Oh no you are just all grown up now.  Me,  I grew out.  You...you grew up.  I’m all grown out and you are all grown up.”  We shared a hug and a laugh.  Then I headed back to the bar.

-- I broke up a fight (but with a twist).  I was in a conversation with two of my classmates when one mentioned that she had met the President (I was quite impressed as she has met -- not once, but twice -- with the President).  I said, “That is so cool!” 

My other friend (a doctor) said, “Which President? 

“Uh, the President of the United States!”

I immediately knew there was about to be a fight.  The good doctor made some remark about Obama-care and %&^@#^%.  To which our Public Relations guru said &*$#(#$!@$!&.

I tried to diffuse the situation, by jokingly asking if he voted for Obama and saying I had voted for him twice.  Neither were listening to me as they squared off.  But being the peacekeeper that I’ve always been, I sent them back to their respective corners without any bloodshed.  Later they both asked me if I could believe how close minded the other had been.  To which I replied, “Different people are allowed their different opinions.”

-- I’m not sure how to classify this one (but with a twist).  I got stuck in a conversation with a female classmate who was a bit more intoxicated than most.   I was looking for an escape route when I finally got support from a former soccer teammate.  However, before we could disengage the following incident occurred.  Another female came over and joined the conversation, and in an animated moment our drunk friend was poking the other woman in the breast. 

So she said, “ (insert name here) you are poking me in the boob.”  Then she turned and walked away. 

Our intoxicated friend then said with authority, “Well my boobies are better than her boobies.” 

Wait a minute!  My teammate and I made eye contact.  We both knew what had to be said next, but it was up in the air who was going to say it.  He, always being a bit more daring than I, took the lead and said, “Prove it.” 

And then it happened, just like we knew it would.  She pulled down the front of her dress and showed the goods.  To which he shrugged and said, “Not bad.”  I guess this gets classified under “drunk girl shows her boobies.”

--  I profess my love but retain the ‘friend’ tag (but with a twist).  There was one person I was a little more anxious to see than maybe some others.  I had my fair share of crushes, but this person was my last high school crush.  I had a lot of girl ‘friends’ in high school, but not a lot of ‘girlfriends.’  Mostly because I so easily fell into friend mode.  This one particular crush always acted like she never knew, but she knew.  She knew I pined for her, but she invariably dated a guy that wasn’t right for her.  In fact, I felt he treated her poorly.  Not me. I was nice and that, my friends, is why I was never seen as boyfriend material.  I want someone to answer this question for me.  Why did the girls always date the guys who were mean to them when us nice guys were there waiting in the wings available?  I waited and waited.  I knew he would eventually do something mean and there I would be -- a shoulder to cry on.  A better option, right? Wrong. 

So when I saw her at the reunion I decided to finally put it all on the table.  After exchanging the obligatory “how are you’s,” I launched into a full profession of my former love.  I explained the whole thing.  How, after being set aside by another ‘friend’ date for senior prom, I had followed her advice to ask her best friend to the prom instead of not going at all.  I thought about it, and a grand plan came to mind.  If I go to prom with her friend (as friends of course), I would be in the same group as her.  I would be around her all night and she wouldn’t be able to not notice me.  Then when ‘he’ was a jerk, I could step in and be the obvious nice-guy choice.  Kind of like “Duckie” in “Pretty in Pink.”  The crazy thing was that everything fell into place on prom night.  The object of my affection was in my sights all night and then it happened – as I predicted – her date was mean to her and left with someone else.  I prepared to be the stand in. I was the shoulder to cry on.  I was kind and available and possibly “cute.”  But alas, she looked right through me, and I never rose above the level of “friend.” 

So, twenty years later, I tell her all of this, and she smiles and acts a bit surprised like she never knew.  But you know, that is the way it goes.  The twist this time is that I am over it.  Okay maybe ‘now,’ that I’ve gotten it off my chest, I’m over it.  And, if my beautiful wife is reading this, I’m so very glad things worked out the way they did because you are the best!

As things wound down, a handful of friends and I were the very last ones the leave the room.  In fact, they cleaning crew actually had to force us out the door.  We weren’t done reminiscing.  The night ended too soon.  We didn’t want to surrender.  We headed over to a nearby drinking establishment where a few others had taken up the cause, and we extended the reverie some more.  But as always, the end must come.  For me, it is bitter sweet.  On some level, I am envious of my former classmates who make their home in Columbia.  They get to share in one another’s company on a regular basis.  On the other hand, I wouldn’t have become who I became had I not left.   I feel I will always have a home and a family in the Spring Valley Vikings class of 1990.  Thank you all for being so warm and welcoming.  Let’s stay in touch.

I invite you leave comments below.  I hope that it is just a conversation starter.