Eagerly Anticipating the High School Reunion
My next high school class reunion has not yet been scheduled, but I already know what I’m wearing.
Sweatpants.
I’m recently retired, and so I now own eight pairs of sweatpants. All eight are black, and I wear one almost everyday. So when the reunion rolls around, I’ll roll in sporting black sweatpants. I can’t wait! I might not look great, but I know I’ll be comfortable.
And thanks to a recent conversation with a high school classmate, it’s not just comfortable pants that have me eagerly anticipating the next reunion . . .
Coffee with Dan
After my blog post on “Stewardship of Pain,” I had a number of incredible and meaningful conversations with people who read it. One was with Dan, a former high school classmate who reached out. I had always admired Dan, but from afar. I never really knew him.
In fact, this would be the first time we’d sit down one-on-one and really talk.
Over coffee, Dan and I compared notes on life.
Dan shared the story of losing his first wife, holding things together as a single dad, stumbling through the grieving process, remarrying, and blending two families together. We talked about loss and grief and faith.
Dan is intelligent, thoughtful and has been immersed in a faith community his entire life. If anyone could craft an articulate prayer in a time of need, it would be Dan.
But he shared with me that when his first wife was in her final days on earth, and it was clear that he and his kids faced a future without her, he could only utter one simple prayer.
Help me.
“Turns out,” he said, “It’s a pretty good prayer.”
I smiled and gave Dan a knowing nod. I’ve prayed that one too.
The conversation was beautiful. Dan is an amazing person. There is so much I can learn from Dan.
So why, why in the world, had I never taken the time to connect and really get to know Dan and so many others in my high school class?
Maybe the answer is found in the loud music blasting from a ‘78 Buick LaSabre with a flamingo on the side and a toucan on the hood.
The Jungle Car, Bad Music, and Bs
The summer before my senior year of high school, my neighbor, Don, approached me with an offer I couldn’t refuse.
Don was an interesting dude. Bright, a free spirit, loved the beach, a talented painter.
Some people like to paint landscapes on canvas. Don preferred to showcase his artistic talents in other ways.
In 1990, Don bought a green, 1978 Buick LeSabre.
It was huge.
Huge was important, because it gave Don more space to paint its exterior with palm trees, sunset scenes, toucans and flamingos.
Yup, Don turned the big, green LeSabre into a one-of-a-kind artistic creation.
I called it The Jungle Car.
When Don took an assignment to teach for a year in Hawaii, he didn’t want the car, his masterpiece, to just sit in the garage.
So he offered to sell me The Jungle Car for $1 if I agreed to sell it back to him for $1 when he returned from Hawaii.
At that point in my life the arrangement could not have been more perfect. I had no money. Buying a car for a buck was about what I could afford.
And I loved attention. Loved it. The Jungle Car was sure to get plenty of attention.
Ice, Ice Baby
It was like manna from heaven! I eagerly signed the deal, hung some big fuzzy dice from the rearview mirror and drove The Jungle Car to high school to begin my senior year.
You might be wondering how this relates to Dan and to my upcoming high school reunion, but stick with me . . .
If The Jungle Car with big fuzzy dice wasn’t obnoxious and attention-grabbing enough, I also really enjoyed blasting loud music while I drove it. Bad music.
I clearly remember one scene in the high school parking lot. My girlfriend at the time was beautiful, funny and had good taste in clothes and music.
In hindsight, I have absolutely no idea why she dated me.
I wasn’t good looking, had no money, wasn’t a great student, liked bad music and was clueless about basically everything. Including girls.
I was a year older than she was, so maybe that was the attraction.
“Sell what you’ve got,” they say. Apparently, I did.
Anyway, we were in The Jungle Car, and I was blasting Vanilla Ice.
I remember she pleaded with me to change the music.
But I didn’t because I knew – I knew – “Ice Ice Baby” was a great song by an incredible artist.
In retrospect, I can’t believe she didn’t break up with me right on the spot. Thank goodness I was one year older.
I Thought I Knew Everything
My bad taste in music didn’t stop with Vanilla Ice.
I recall one class period with a teacher who liked the students to call him “Rog” instead of Mr. Nelson.
Rog asked the students to share one thing that our classmates might not know about us.
When it was my turn to share, I said I liked the song “Hanging Tough” by The New Kids on the Block.
Rog laughed and said, “You didn’t have to share something that embarrassing.”
I understood it would get a laugh, which is why I said it, but I knew – absolutely knew – that “Hanging Tough” by The New Kids on the Block was actually an amazing song that would stand the test of time.
Why am I sharing this?
Because I think the reason I didn’t work hard to connect with Dan and many others in high school is because I thought I knew everything I needed to know.
So I just hung out with kids who were easy to hang out with: my teammates, kids who liked the same things I did, had the same hobbies, etc.
Missed Opportunities
I didn’t work at connecting with as many classmates as possible because I simply didn’t know what I didn’t know.
I didn’t know how much I could learn from them. I didn’t understand how much they could teach me, help me, and enrich my life. And so I missed out, big time.
My self-assured arrogance hurt me in other ways as well.
Thinking you know everything tends to pretty much squash intellectual curiosity. It certainly did for me. When you think you know everything you need to know, there is no reason to work hard at Geometry, Chemistry or Composition.
Why would you seek out knowledge from books or from people when you have it all figured out already?
Humility, it seems, is a key component to learning, whether it’s learning from books or learning from people.
If I have any humility today, it is a learned trait. I didn’t have any in high school.
And I missed out on so much as a result.
Knowing what you don’t know can stimulate curiosity and fuel a desire to connect with ideas, perspectives, research, subjects and people that are new and unexplored.
I understand that now.
And I now realize that I was wrong about so much of what I was certain I knew in high school.
It turns out that Vanilla Ice really isn’t a talented artist, “Hanging Tough” by The New Kids on the Block didn’t stand the test of time and I actually didn’t know all I needed to know as I cruised around in The Jungle Car.
Lesson learned.
What I Wish I Knew Back in High School
As I think ahead to my next class reunion, I don’t have the stereotypical anxieties associated with high school reunions.
I have no desire to try to impress.
I have no desire to show off.
I have no desire to relive the glory days (well, maybe just a little).
Instead, I want to show up in comfortable black sweatpants and connect with as many classmates as possible.
Because I know now what I wish I knew back in high school: they all have so much to teach me, and I have so much to learn.
