The Party Is Over

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As I commence committing this virtual ink to the virtual parchment’s field of white, I presume that MY… strike that… THEIR two day duration, 50th class reunion had ended at the predesignated, Saturday night into Sunday morn, midnight hour; that (having slept off their hangovers) THEY, who had journeyed, from both near and far, are now (or soon will be) homeward bound; aloft in the unfriendly skies or grounded on the concrete and asphalt thoroughfares.

The operative word being “presume”; seeing how, tho invited, I had opted not to attend. How come?

Long Story Short… Such a decision was/is out of my ongoing deference towards the unpredictable nature of the still rampaging, multiple coronavirus variants, and, more to my main point, was/is totally consistent with my contention…

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Not everyone is dying to relive their K thru 12 experience.

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My intent had been to shun all “classmates” who had actively shunned me as well as the passive types who had “merely looked the other way.” Let’s cut to the chase. Sadistic bullies had mercilessly assaulted me (verbally and physically) from 4th thru 8th grades (inclusive) and had marginalized me thereafter. Hence, my Graduation Day, muttered under the breath, vow to never, ever stagger thru any of their Ground Zero-esque, class reunion rubble.

Short Story Somewhat Longer… the following clickable content will relate the rest of the story. For those with time constraints, I highly recommend Part 2…

Suffice to say, on this “morning after”… now morphing into the afternoon after… I find myself sufficiently curious; oddly awash with second guessing. I cannot help but wonder if, at any point of these weekend festivities, I’d have discovered…

  • Bygone tormentors who had finally grown up enough to behave in a more civil manner?
  • Any of my outcast compatriots scattered amongst the attendees?

All things considered… long sigh… case closed… no real regrets…

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Be people Vaxxed OR Unvaxxed, We
can still shed and spread the batcrap
crazy contagious coronavirus which,
in turn, spawns new variants; which,
in turn, could, eventually, render the
available vaccines worthless; which,
in turn, will drag out the pandemic’s
needless suffering, illness and death!

HENCE… this easy as pie, cover your
nose and pie-hole/hole-up heads-up:

Stay Publicly / Properly Masked!
Stay Safe at Home!
Stay Healthy!

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“We Meet Again” (Part 2)

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Compelling how that headline’s quotation marks can express such contrasting sentiments. When specifically connected with this post’s Part 1, it involves words I don’t really mean; i.e., signifies my shunning days of yore, superficial, dreary students. Yet, when associated with Part 2, it refers to an actual quotation; words which showcase a long ago, meaningful, far too fleeting friendship with a delightful classmate (more about her in a moment).

BTW, if you happened to miss Part 1, my following catch-up synopsis should prove adequate.

Of late, I’ve been flouting bygone, classmate acquaintances’ persistent messages (logged on my landline answering machine / lodged within my snail mailbox); thwarting their attempts to invite me to OUR… correction… THEIR 50th Class Reunion. Here’s why…

  • From the 4th grade, onward, bullies had rendered me a social pariah
  • As such, I have absolutely boycotted all of THEIR previous reunions
  • Past reunion organizers could not track down THEIR other outcasts
  • If “lepers”, such as I, aren’t gonna to show up, why bother attending?

Even so… truth be told… I certainly would love a second chance at transforming that above mentioned fleeting friendship into something more forever. Alas… long sigh… No Way On Earth could that ever, possibly happen.

You see, a delightful young Miss had officially joined the Class of ’72 at September’s outset of the 2nd Grade. Assigned to the desk directly in front of mine, on that Day-1, she spun around to introduce herself. Tho she had certainly needed no assist from beauty, Debbie’s charming presence did get further enhanced by her shoulder length wavy blonde hair, sparkling blue eyes and beguiling smile.

And that was just for starters. From each school day, onward, she’d turn to face me, remind me, “We meet again.” Wow, what an original expression from someone so young!

Regrettably, that was not for long. Debbie was destined to complete her formal education ten years too early; “graduate” in a most unexpected, unconventional manner when her oncologist meted out his death sentence diagnosis.

Sadly, in that bygone era, schools didn’t, yet, have grief counselors in their employ; delegating such a duty to our teacher, Mrs. M. Her sixty seconds, tops, somber announcement was all we could rely on to console us.

The problem with such a scenario… developmentally speaking, seven and eight-year-olds have yet to fully grasp the finality of death. Personally, up to that very moment, my only previous experience was as an even less aware six-year-old; my ambivalence to my maternal grandmother’s passing on, due, mainly, to the multiple hundreds of miles between Minnesota and Michigan; the expense of travel keeping us apart (my school teacher father was working for peanuts).

Returning now to the life that Debbie might have had… to this day, I cannot help but wonder. Had she remained healthy, been allowed a full lifespan, what might our friendship have become? Considering how well we had gotten along, might the phrase childhood sweethearts have been appropriate?

Returning now to the life that Debbie had been denied… due to the custodian’s next day, get ‘er done efficiency, my classroom’s far left column, where I was situated, was now shortened by one desk; that omission advancing me forward. Somehow, none of this seemed right. In essence, I was now seated at Debbie’s desk; and even worse, would never, again, ear witness her cheerful greeting… unless…

Theologians’ claims of an afterlife do prove true. If so, once my final day on Earth arrives, perhaps I will finally be granted my second chance at transforming a fleeting friendship into something more FOREVER?

I do intend to train my ears… correction… fine tune Eternity’s equivalent telepathy, which will permit me to discern Debbie’s in good spirits, three welcoming words…

“We meet again!”

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Stay Publicly / Properly Masked!
Stay Safe at Home!
Stay Healthy!

-30-

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“We Meet Again” (Part 1)

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Ever since late last December, an ex-classmate has been doing her damnedest to call attention to our… correction… THEIR… 50th class reunion; has been overburdening my landline’s aged answering machine; of late, has also been farming out this onerous (odious) task to a confederate, who is now snailing me similarly themed, junk mail appeals. All to NO avail. So, why my disinterest?

Stated diplomatically… not everyone has fuzzy fond memories of their K thru 12 experience.

Stated exhaustively… from 4th thru 8th grade, inclusive, that bygone student body’s bully faction had rendered my life utterly miserable; my avoidance of their verbal abuse and physical assaults depending upon how well I could “sell”, to my folks, my allergy related raspy voice, runny stuffed up nose, sneezing and asthmatic wheezing as an affliction of a more serious nature; my ability to parlay such cold / flu / pneumonia like symptoms into the perfect excuse to cut classes.

And, typically, my Academy Award worthy performance art would prevail; provided my folks didn’t whip out a thermometer.

Had both of them not been college degreed educators; fully capable of home schooling me (dad’s disciplines the Sciences and Math; mom’s expertise English, Lit and History), I could’ve easily wound up falling behind, flunking (perhaps even dropping) out.

Eventually and inevitably… my father had eye-witnessed, from afar, these bullies physically attacking his son; resulting in his outrage fueled letter; next-day delived, by me, to my school’s secretary.

However, rather than the principal extending me a helping hand, he publicly humiliated me. While angrily wagging his finger in my face, he vociferously accused me of being a liar; the venue for his fury fueled tirade being my school’s lunchroom; eye-witnessed by multiple hundreds of my stunned into a dead silence classmates; among them, the very bastards who were bullying me.

Returning to the here and now… that these people would even try to reconnect, I view akin to a testimonial; either to their forgetfulness or, far worse yet, a further demonstration of their thoughtlessness.

Let’s keep this all real… I’ve never attended any of our… correction… THEIR earlier reunions. Even chance encounters (grocery store, auto service waiting room and at my former workplaces) have been limited; our (lack of) quality time, grand total, amounting to approximately fifty minutes, tops. That’s 50 minutes out of the past 50 years; which begs the key “Q”…

Having not missed me for a freakin’ half century, why start now?

Beyond that… quite telltale is how, prior to past reunions, the organizers’ missives have included entreaties for locating hard to track down classmates; that roster, invariably, naming the very people I’d want to reconnect with. Hey, if they’re not gonna show up, why the hell would I?

Truth be told… there is one former classmate, in particular, who I really do miss; would love to see once more. Alas… long sigh… that’d be impossible. I’ll relate more about her once…

“We Meet Again” (Part 2) merges with the www within the next seven days…

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Stay Publicly / Properly Masked!
Stay Safe at Home!
Stay Healthy!

-30-

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