Tainted Love

There was no way for us to know then what we know now, but tonight we will jointly walk down memory lane and . . .

It’s impossible to finish this sentence because there is no way for any of us to predict the outcome, to know how each of us will react to the sudden and collective jarring of our memories and the reality that always accompanies three decades of joy, adventure, immense pain, love, grief, startling loss, sex, drugs and rock n roll.

We were a collection of kids from Saco and Dayton on the verge of history, ready to make our stake in the world around us; full of pride, ambition and arrogance.

Some of us ended the journey far too early. Others experienced success beyond their wildest imaginations. But we all shared private pain, sorrow and disappointment along the way.

We are smarter today, wiser and more competent. Most of us (except you know who) look much different: some extra weight, less hair and that weird onset of shrinkage that makes us yearn for the days when our bodies could endure just about anything.

When we graduated from high school, there were no ATMs in Biddeford or Saco. There was no such thing as Facebook or You Tube. HBO was a new experience and cable television was an emerging technology. A blog was a stain on your shirt. There was no Wal-Mart and Ronald Reagan was serving his first term.

James Booth lost his primary bid for re-election as Saco’s mayor. Today, his son is a candidate for the Maine Senate.

You bought your school supplies at Wellwood’s or Zayre’s.

Many of lost touch with one another; we ended up raising families in other parts of the world.

Our collective tragedies were small-scale compared to the horror we all witnessed on clear September morning in 2001.

We became doctors, lawyers, bankers and even professional musicians. Some of us lost parents, siblings, spouses and best friends along the way. We became disillusioned with the promise of marriage, the American Dream and the naiveté that accompanies youth.

We experienced miracles, bringing our own children into the world. We made new and lasting friendships. And we became more tolerant and forgiving.

Some of us will not celebrate or reminisce  tonight, either barred by geographic limitations or professional/ family obligations.

But many of us will simply choose not to participate. The reasons are varied. Some of us may be ashamed that we did not meet our expectations, or are reluctant to gather with those they never really felt connected to in the first place.

In every high school class, there are those who remain in the shadows and  beneath the radar.

Reunions are an awkward experience. Bullies meet their victims, the pangs of despised love are rekindled, and  the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to are exposed over gin and tonics or bottles of Michelob Light. Yeah, I just lifted some Shakespeare…so sue me: I can be a pretentious fuck at times.

So, why do we do this? Why go through the bullshit to capture a fleeting moment of history?

The answer is simple. No matter how different we like to believe we are, we all yearn for common connections and reminders that we are not alone on this journey.

We can take solace in our common experiences, successes and failures.

Or, maybe we’re just curious and wondering: “Whatever happened to . . . “

They say that expectations are nothing more than pre-meditated resentments…so I will go, watch and laugh.