Sometimes life is like a John Hughes movie

I spent some time (much too little time, by the way) with some of my best friends this weekend. We go back to high school, though some of us haven’t become that close really until the past few years. Regardless, we all knew each other “when”. “When” our clothes were questionable, “when” some of our hair defied the laws of gravity, and “when” making stupid choices about which boys you dated was par for the course. Every time we are together I learn something new about who dated whom back in the day. What an incestuous little group we had! Yowza!

A few of us were able to get together to surprise my friend Renee in honor of her 40th birthday. She’s the one leading the charge into our 40s and over the next year we have to figure out how in the heck to surprise any of the rest of us. I strongly suggested finding a way to get me a personal meeting with David Bryan, which isn’t as far of a stretch as you might think since a guy from high school with whom Renee is still really good friends is in the musical Memphis on Broadway. Written, of course, by my beloved Dave. So I’ve got those 2 or 3 degrees of separation, but I’m not sure my heart could take it if I met him. I’d scream like a tweenage girl does over Justin Beiber. And that’s scary. But if that DOES happen, ladies, please remember to get it all on video because I’m sure it would be a sight to behold if I ever managed to regain my composure and stop babbling like an idiot.

Anyway, while we were all chatting in Renee’s kitchen, she was relaying to another friend of hers who had joined in the fun about what happened to me last week, when I got an apology from the boy who broke my heart back in high school. She was telling her friend that it was like something out of a movie; not something that happens in real life. And she said that she wishes SHE could get an apology from her guy who fits that description from high school.

That got me to thinking that in many ways Renee was right. It was something that you think only happens in a John Hughes 80s teen movie where the boy realizes he was a jackass and goes after the girl, if only to tell her that he’s sorry. Cue some song by OMD or Spandau Ballet, throw in Molly Ringwald and you’ve got yourself a hit!

As a John Hughes junkie, I like the thought of having my own personal JH moment. And then, I realized in an embarrassment of riches, I actually had another one of those moments because my prom date was really my Jake Ryan. My date to the junior prom was the boy that all the girls were swooning over that year. Just such a cutie patootie in addition to being smart and ridiculously nice. In fact, he still is. I’m currently awaiting the arrival of their annual family Christmas card with pictures of “Jake” and his wife and kids. It’s always too frickin’ cute and I am always happy when it arrives. (ETA: The card arrive today! Sweet!)

But yeah, “Jake” (who if you know me personally you totally know this guy’s real name, BUT DON’T USE IT FOR CRYIN’ OUT LOUD ) was my big crush back in high school so getting asked to Prom by him was quite the teenage coup. Plus, my dress was fab and we both looked great. I still have the dress, though I’m not sure what I will ever do with it. I just can’t bear to part with it.

It seems truly like an embarrassment of riches to have gotten my date with my “Jake” AND to have gotten that 23-years-overdue apology. If you follow a John Hughes train of thought, I guess the apology game from my John Bender – the rebel with bigger problems than anyone realized who most likely did drive my parents nuts in the brief time we dated, just like Bender thought he’d be great for Claire to use to make HER parents nuts.

I guess now I need to find the Keith to go with my Watts (“Some Kind of Wonderful” for those not up on the JH universe) and make him realize that he really doesn’t want Amanda Jones. That girls with the short blond hair are just way, way cooler and look great wearing his future.

A conversation with the guy who screwed me up

How's that for a great title for a blog post, eh?  It makes me laugh to read it, but yet it's true.  Read on my friends. Read on.  (And as a disclaimer, should someone be reading this who knows who this person is, do NOT name names or anything remotely identifying.  I'm trying to blog, not "out" someone who is no longer an asshole. Thanks.)

Once upon a time, I was just your average teenage girl. I really was.  I was in love with the guys in Duran Duran and had seriously questionable taste in clothes. It was, after all, the 80s.  And then...I met this guy.  We'll call him "Bob" since, y'know, that's totally not his name.

I met Bob on my 15th birthday and was smitten. Probably because he was the bad boy/rebel and what sweet, innocent (stupid) girl doesn't go for that, right? Right.  He was my first date, first kiss.  I'd never call him a "boyfriend" though because we barely dated. Maybe 6 or 7 times.  Then we ended up having some weird, dysfunctional...something...going on about a year or so later where we were some strange version of friends.  Anyway, I've blocked a lot of it out for various reasons.  But I'll wrap that part of the story up by saying he was bad news.  He was arrested repeatedly for God knows what. My parents had long since forbidden me to date him.   Just bad, bad news.

This is the guy who screwed me up.  Just screwed. me. up.  If I went into deep analysis I could say that this screw up colored how I have related to men ever since, but let's not do that.  I know it deep down.  And perhaps now things have come full circle.  And maybe I'll get unscrewed (in a good way, mind you).  Read on please. I promise it's worth it.

Mystery Man

It was a hot July morning in Dubai – is there any other kind? – and I found myself at the airport, getting ready for a flight back to the US. I moved to Dubai in mid-February 2001 to work at Zayed University. Six months later and very, very homesick, I was heading home for 2 weeks to see family and friends and just revel in being back in the United States for a while.

I had purchased my tickets through a local travel agency and was all set to go on one of the first direct flights that Delta Airlines had going in and out of Dubai International Airport. Alas, not being a seasoned traveler, I did not check behind my travel agent and when I got to the counter to check in around 4am, the ticket agent told me I had not been confirmed for the flight and would have to wait until 6am after they called everyone for boarding to see if I could get on the flight.

Needless to say, anyone who knows me knows I began to panic at this point. I think I managed not to cry, but I was clearly not happy. At some point, perhaps sensing my distress, a fellow traveler approached me to ask what was going on. I remember having seen him in the check in area along with another man dressed in the traditional Middle Eastern dishdasha, but he was dressed in jeans and a sweater. He asked what was wrong and I told him. He never offered solutions as I recall, but simply offered support and his conviction that everything would work out and I would be able to get on the plane.

I don’t recall that we spoke much more, but when it came time for boarding, he looked at me and said, “I’ll see you at the gate.”

After everyone else had checked in, I was finally able to be confirmed for the flight – which was only 1/3 full to begin with, so I still do not understand why it was necessary to put me through 2 hours of torture waiting to find out if I was going to get on the flight. I made my way to the boarding waiting area and he smiled when he saw me and said, “I told you it would work out.”

We boarded and with such a small number of passengers everyone had a great amount of space to themselves in the seating areas. The flight did make a stop in Cairo to clean up the plane and change crews and everyone had to deplane for 45 minutes. I sat in the waiting area of the Cairo airport with this Mystery Man – we never exchanged names – and a woman from Dubai who was traveling to Disney World. We all chatted about things I can’t remember nearly 10 years later. I only remember the woman’s final destination and that my Mystery Man was Canadian and originally from Kashmir and worked for a Canadian bank in Dubai. I wish I could remember more about what the 3 of us talked about because we enjoyed each other’s company so much.

Then it was time to reboard the plane and head for JFK Airport in New York. It was also at this point that I made one of the dumbest decisions of my life. When my new nameless friend suggested we sit together, I declined. I have NO IDEA why. I think my intent was to move around the cabin later and go back to talk to him as I think he wasn’t sitting too horribly far from me. But in truth, all these years later I can’t remember exactly what he said or what I said or anything except that we did not sit together. I knew that we were also on the same connecting flight to Atlanta from JFK, but after meeting my friend Diana at the airport for a brief chat I never saw the Mystery Man again.

This story, however, is not about me not spending more time talking to this man. I regret that and always have, but that’s water under the bridge. What I have not forgotten, however, is the kindness of this stranger. When I most needed encouragement, he was there with it. Not spouting platitudes or clichés, but simply saying, “I’ll see you at the gate.”

From time to time I wonder what has become of the Mystery Man. I have a very vague recollection of what he looked like, but I would not know him if I ran into him on the street. I am sorry that I never had the chance to tell him how much I appreciated him that morning. How much even almost 10 years later that it still means to me that he was kind to me. When I think of him now and then, I send up a quick little prayer for his well-being and ask God to please let him know that I’m grateful.

While we have people in our lives that are constants, we have the transients as well. Folks who come into and go out of our lives for a reason and a season. When I thought of the Mystery Man this morning, I was struck for the first time by how easy it is to impact someone’s life in such a short time. I will never forget this man. Never. I only hope that from time to time he remembers the American woman from the airport, but it doesn’t matter if he does or not. I will remember him and maybe, at least every now and then, I will return the favor by being kind to someone else as a way of thanking this man without truly being able to thank him.

Everything we do, everything we say, it all matters. No matter how insignificant we think it might be, it matters. To someone.