This week an old classmate of mine died. Its not the first time it's happened, and certainly won't be the last, but it really did something to me. Maybe because he was only thirty. Or because it appears to have been some strange medical fluke- as far as I know, he wasn't sick and there wasn't some sort of traumatic accident. Maybe its because I haven't spoken to him in probably 18 years, and that's the age of a college freshman and I can't believe I am that old.
I wasn't the only one struck by this, it seems. Our little catholic school class of 35 kids or so, scattered all over the country, was mobilized by this. Facebook, these past few days, has been overwhelmed with outdated pictures while we all bemoaned our puffy bangs and stone wash jeans and braces. Friend requests were sent with reckless, nostalgic abandon.
It really is an incredible and wonderful thing. Very healing. There's even been talk of a middle school reunion. Wouldn't that be something? To reunite our close knit class after so many years?
Let me just say: I would love a reunion. After a few days of this, however, I started to wonder. I read a post from a old classmate who spoke about forgiveness and I had a conversation with another friend whose memories of grade school weren't all shiny and covered with rose colored glasses. I could relate. In the mass of names that commented on pictures, there were a few that pierced me. Just reading the letters gave me a queasy feeling in my stomach. The insecurity and confusion I felt at twelve was incredibly enough, still there.
It once more occurred to me that wounds run deep. Of course, everyone says this. This isn't a new revelation. Books and songs, movies and documentaries are all built around this principle. But what I am just now beginning to wonder about- what never crossed my mind before- is that I think everyone has these wounds. And I mean everyone. You may have already known this. I'm dense and self-absorbed sometimes. Forgive me.
See, I thought I was one of the Wounded. One of the select few who was either picked on or maybe just overly sensitive to criticism (which I realized didn't matter, because hurt is hurt is hurt- however it comes about). But now I am wondering if every single one of us has a bit of pain when they think about that super vulnerable time in our lives. The popular girl with magically perfect hair. The good looking basketball player with the starter jacket. The brainy kid who was reading in preschool. The chubby girl with a strange name. Whether they were awkward on the play ground or uncomfortable on the bus or were mistreated at home... we all had our heartaches. And at thirteen, I doubt any of us were emotionally mature enough to cope.
I'm not proud of this, but a few months ago, I was told off. As I said, our grade school class was tiny. Same thirty or so kids for 10 years. Rules were established, codes were made, inside joke were... inside. So you can imagine, typical pre adolecent grievances aside, it would be particularly difficult to join our class as an Outsider. Not only that, but one who had a tough time in public school so their parent's decided a private school may be a better option. Add to that, a strictly Jewish girl in a strictly catholic school. I don't recall making fun of this girl, myself. In fact, I doubt I had it in me. But, I never stood up for her. I never defended her or befriended her and I probably joined in the laughter. I don't remember. To be perfectly honest, I don't want to.
I recall running into this particular girl in high school on occasion and doing the whole "Hey, how's it going?" thing. Nothing sincere, but friendly enough to think I did my part in making up for her humiliation. You know, letting bygones be bygones and all. Then ten years later, I began to run into her at my work place. She would come in with her parents and seeing her through older, wiser eyes, I was able to realize that there was something a little off with her. She would pick on my employees and was very confrontational. Its difficult to describe, but we all knew something was different and so we took her words in stride.
She never really spoke to me, though. Always avoided me. It was awkward because we clearly knew each other. I wondered how long this would last. My answer came on a quiet evening at the club. She strode up to me with her head held high and said "If you would like to apologize for how you treated me in junior high, I will accept it now."
Wow. I was stunned. Literally speechless for a full thirty seconds to a minute. My staff were of course up at the desk with me, studiously trying to appear to not be listening. Bless them. A thousand retorts spun in my brain ranging from a defensive "I never actually made fun of you" to "where do you get off accosting me at work?" to "what do you know about me?" to "good for you!" The latter won out. I apologized. Not only for me, but for the rest of my class. I was proud of her. I imagine that she must have been working up to that for a very long time. In fact, I think she was waiting for me to step up and once she realized I wasn't, she forced the issue.
Now, I still don't think she should have done it the way she did. I was at work after all. And after she got that off her chest, she took the opportunity to tear me down at every encounter after that with backhanded compliments. But, I am almost thirty and have been very blessed. I can take it.
In a recent telling of this story to a friend, they confessed that they had tormented her in high school. Because they, themselves had been tormented in junior high. They felt responsible for my tormenting at twenty-nine and sincerely apologized. I accepted, but then realized I needed to apologize to them as well. You see, I never stood up for them either. Hurting all around.
The circle of life.
So. I wasn't ONE of the select few. I was just one among the masses. And despite this, we all survived, it seems. And that's the point. (I know you were probably wondering. What IS your point, Erin?) Some of us matured early and got it right in high school... we became those super cool kids who didn't give a sh*t and were loved by everyone. I met one of those people once. I am still in awe. Some turned their hurt into anger and took it out on someone else. I certainly get that. Its a vicious circle, but it's such a human response. Others still channeled their pain in to something positive. I remember being in the snow ball club in high school. I did it for the free candy and the perk of getting out of gym class, but there were some sincerely caring kids in there who were hoping to change things. I admire them for that; to be so enlightened at fifteen.
In college, it was more common. My husband and I talk all the time about how college was where we both finally felt like we were able to find our true selves. It took moving six hours away from everything I knew to REALLY know. I still have a hard time being back in Illinois sometimes for that very reason. Sometimes I will drive past my old schools and have fond memories- much like I did on fb this week. Sometimes I don't.
But, we all did it. We've all come to terms with our selves, I think. It doesn't mean that the hurt or insecurities have vanished. I think it just means that we have enough life behind us to cover up the hurts with good things. And that's survival.
