Reunion

Reunions - who cares?  I realize that a lot of people do, I just never have. I remember going to my first high school reunion. It was our 10 year (I had skipped the 5 year). I was so unimpressed that it was ridiculous. Hadn't these people grown up and finally understood that everything didn't have to revolve around drinking and dirty jokes? Maybe it was me. After all I didn't blend well in school - I did my own thing and had a very small cluster of friends. My goal was to rock the GPA, graduate early, and get a job. I did. Once I determined that I had enough credits to graduate, it was one short meeting with my counselor and I was out of there - see ya suckers!  In less than a month I landed a job with the company I would give 29 years of hard work and loyalty too.

I wasn't very social in high school - never dated - didn't care too. I was there to get out. There were many downsides. One being little dating experience...lots of the people I knew "had been around the block once or twice" (or at least claimed they had) and I'd not quite moved off the sidewalk. Whatever. Looking back I was a bit shy. If a girl wanted to talk to me she better be prepared to start the conversation, keep it rolling, and decide when it was over. My job was to maintain eye contact. Don't let the eyes wander...no...stop...look at her eyes...her eyes...that's better. Another downside was that shifting from high school directly to a full time job (earning the monster sum of $450 a month) required me to attack my college degree at night.  The downside to that downside was that it took for frickin forever....the upside, I was making bank....or so it seemed. $450 a month and living at home - sweet baby!

So why this blog about reunions?  My best friend from high school called me last week about an upcoming 25 year reunion of our city league soccer team. Many moons ago I played quite a bit of soccer. I wasn't great in terms of skill, but I was fast. They put me in the forward position and our main play was for someone to kick the ball as far as they could and see if I could out run the defender, get the ball first, and score a goal. It wasn't the most strategic plan but it worked well. Sooner or later the other teams would put two guys on me and let's just say the game became a bit rougher. I remember dislocating my jaw in this no contact sport. It was a bitch when the doc popped it back into place...ouch! The day came when we got a real coach who used to play for Manchester United and knew his shit. He moved me to defense using the logic that most Americans shove the fast guys up front so we better have faster guys in the back to cut them off, take the ball and turn it back up field. I loved it!  Big guys racing down with the ball and 120 pound Mikey would take the ball away and run it back to help set up a goal. Anyway 25 years ago we won our division, made it through the playoffs and had the big city league championship game played in Civic Stadium. We lost 3-1 but it was an incredible experience.

Thus the reunion and I don't want to go. I haven't seen these people in nearly 23 years and even Vince, my best friend in high school and I see each other only once maybe every few years. Why would I want to drive to Portland for what would be an awkward evening, probably too many beers, and stories about the big game that likely are a far stretch from what really happened?  Oh, and then there's the "Hi, remember me? Yes, I used to have hair...no, I'm divorced now...."  Sounds like a great time. Geez, I reread that and I kinda sound like an asshole. Truth is I am thinking about going (5% yes/95% no) The thing is that Vince wants me to go. The guy has a heart the size of the moon and is all sentimental about this kind of thing. I could hear the disappointment in his voice when we talked. I left him with a "maybe" though we both knew the odds were against it.

Who knows, maybe you'll see a blog about my reunion experience snuck in among the race stories. My life is about moving forward but not at the expense of forgetting the important things in my past. Maybe this is one of them. Maybe I'm meant to go. Maybe we'll go. Looking over at the passenger seat may be all I need to make it a great trip. That in of itself could be a blog but that is for another day. Today I'll close my eyes and remember beating the keeper, tucking the ball away on the far right post, turning toward my teammates and running with my arms held high because one of them had just delivered to me the perfect pass.