Ten years. I honestly can’t believe it’s been ten years. Not that I’m not older (that is quite evident as my bedtime becomes earlier and earlier each year), not that I’m not wiser (though you wouldn’t always know it given my choice of boyfriends long past), not that I don’t feel like I’ve come a long way from the days of Demon pride and the high-kicking Demonettes. (Don’t ask…) But ten years…wow.
I’m helping to plan our high school reunion, a hefty feat once you think about the difficulty of tracking down 290+ students in a short amount of time. True, classmates.com and things of that sort are supposed to be helpful, yet I’ve started with the grassroots (read: ghetto) tactic of a mass email. Viral marketing at its best, I’m asking those people I stay in touch with to pass on the email to those people that they stay in touch with; the end result, hopefully, is a relatively robust list of long lost classmates.
But ten years. I know I’ve changed a ton, and from people who I have recently reconnected with, it’s safe to say that they have as well. We’ve lost that shiny varnish of youth, the innocent optimism that guided us through many a late night cram session (or, let’s be honest here, a pounding hangover during the next morning’s exam) and kept us going even when we realized our (former) boss epitomized the phrase “Scary Tyrant.” And yet, a little heavier, a little more forehead showing (at least for the guys), getting back in touch with people whose names I had nearly forgotten has shown me one thing:
I’ll be the only girl at the reunion whose maiden name is still their last name. Who knew that Ohioans got hitched so soon!?