Yes, I was a little self-conscious beforehand about being the only visually-impaired one there. But, that's almost always the case and I'm finally coming to terms with it. Besides, most of the others have to use reading glasses these days. I guess that makes me a trendsetter.
Monday, July 16, 2012
Thanks to Facebook I was invited to the 30 year reunion for the class I went to school with, but didn’t graduate with. Midway through 11th grade my family moved. That didn’t matter to those who planned the reunion. It was about the shared experience of growing up here.
There were over 400 who graduated from FHS in 1982. I wasn’t involved in any activities, wasn’t athletic, or a standout by any definition of the word. I doubted many people would even remember me. In addition to that, the big hairstyle of that era has been replaced by a crewcut and mostly relocated to my face in the form of a beard.
That tiny insecure voice inside told me to be ready for someone to tap me on the shoulder and say, “You didn’t actually graduate with us, so you have to leave.”
It also told me to be ready in case someone copped an attitude with me, like a high school student would. Health issues (some potentially fatal), life in some big cities, vision loss, life in a couple of large cities with vision loss have all created a much less easily intimidated version of me than the one people might remember in high school. I’ve had to learn to stand up for myself over the years.
Then a different tiny voice told me that time and maturity hasn’t ignored all those people. It told me to just expect a good time. Never mind the high odds of me being the only legally blind one there. Or the only one with a couple of transplanted organs. I might not be the most enviable one there, but I was pretty sure I had the most atypical life.
Three weeks before the reunion, I had my gall bladder removed along with a hernia repair. I was down 15 pounds, which would have been a blessing for some, but not in my case. In just a few weeks I went from being in the best shape of my life to the same scrawny body I had in high school. It was a chore to find clothes that didn’t hang off me. Everybody wants to look at these things, whether it’s been 10 years or 70.
I had a good time. People walked up and spoke to me, so it didn’t matter that I couldn’t see across the room. I said, “You actually remember me?” about a dozen times. The usual response was, “Of course I do.”
When I said that to Ziva, followed by, “I was such a nobody,” she looked me in the eye and said, “Everybody is somebody.” This from one of the cool, tall, pretty chicks back in high school who I didn’t really know back then. I had approached her wanting to connect with a fellow writer.
The next thing I knew, I was having a great time with her, Jinger, and Lisa (more cool, pretty girls who were at the reunion) on Dickson Street. I expected to see old friends that night, but never expected to make new ones of people I hadn’t known back then.
Since then, I’ve done a little revising on the history book in my head. I already knew that sometime since 1982, I had become somebody. It turns out you don’t have to be a standout to be somebody and more people notice you than you think.
Now I stand out without really trying and not for the reasons I would have chosen. Now I’m somebody because of that. But it turns out I was somebody all along.