A Case of Mistaken Identity, Or…What I Did on My Summer Vacation

I took a vacation this summer.  An actual get-in-your-car-and-leave-the-state vacation, which is so unlike me.  Apparently I needed it though as several people at work commented that they were glad when I was leaving town. Um…now that I think about it, maybe they were sending me a different message than the one I interpreted.  Hmmm…

Either way, I packed up my Impala and hit the interstate, trekking from South Carolina to Virginia, back to the town I grew up in.  I moved out of this town 29 years ago, right before I started high school, but I’ve been back a couple of times since then to visit a friend. She doesn’t live there anymore, but I know a few folks who do, so the plan was to see them, see the area, visit places in Richmond and then move on to see another friend or two in Newport News.  For the most part, it all worked out, but unfortunately I did not get to see some of my friends. Maybe one day we’ll connect again face-to-face. I hope so!

This probably isn’t most people’s idea of a vacation, but you see, I never grew up taking vacations.  Every year, at Thanksgiving and Easter, my parents would pack up their big, green Oldsmobile with 2 kids, 2 dogs and a cooler full or sandwiches and snack size Snickers and Milky Way bars and make the trip down I-95 back to SC, where they were both from, to visit the family.  I don’t think any of us really enjoyed those trips because, hello, 2 young kids and 2 dogs plus 8 or more hours of driving (and doubtless the kids’ complaining) doesn’t make for the happiest of times. But as my father said later on in my life, it was a free vacation and that’s how the grandparents got to see us, so off we went.  It was a vacation we could afford, so outside of annual outings to Busch Gardens and Kings Dominion, that’s the only kind of vacation I grew up knowing.  To this day, it’s a challenge for me to go somewhere for a vacation.  I don’t have much money to spend to begin with, so spending it on a vacation isn’t the first thing I think of.  However, having previously discussed with some friends about mutually wanting to see each other, I finally made plans for this trip and it only took me 2 years to follow through.



I was raised in a VERY pink and green, late 70s bedroom.  Can you dig it?



The drive up took longer than I had planned, but I arrived on a Saturday evening and took a look around town. It’s not a big town, so that didn’t take too long, although I didn’t drive all over the place.  Unfortunately, I decided to drive past my old house and it was just, well, sad.  Really, really sad.  The people who own it now don’t seem to take good care of the place – at least on the outside – and I’m not sure I would want to see the inside.  The last time I was there I knew that the place didn’t look so great, but I guess my memories dulled.  The neighborhood is still a nice, middle-class place with nice homes and yards (for the most part), but I know my mother would be sad at the state of the yard since she loved gardening and put a lot of work into her yards over the years. 



One snowy winter day with my neighborhood friend David.



Obviously this is someone else’s home now and they can do whatever they want to do, so I moved on and lamented over it a bit, but chose to put the current state of things into a box and dump it in the trash.  Why?  Because it’s not my home anymore and I have such good memories of my home.   I’m not letting go of that good stuff just because of some bad stuff. No way!



That spruce tree behind us is a LOT bigger now than it was about 40 years ago.



My parents were the first owners of that house and some of the first people in that new neighborhood period.  The trees are bigger now and a lot of people have moved out.  I recognized things and places, but it was also confusing.  That’s my house, but yet, it’s not my house.  It’s not the house I grew up in, even if the bones of the structure are still there. 

That’s what I found out about the whole town. It’s the town I grew up in, but yet, it’s not my hometown.  For years, I’ve protested in my mind that I am from Virginia, not South Carolina.  If asked, I say, “I was born and raised in Virginia, but I’ve lived in South Carolina for a long time.”  I remember being so excited when my parents talked about moving. I like change and new things and new people and it’s easy when you are a kid to forget how change is going to affect you.  How it might be a challenge to make new friends or learn about new places.  How things will be different.  I loved growing up in my small town and while it is still small now, it’s grown a lot over the years.  But it’s not where I am from. Not anymore.



This whole photos screams "It's the 1970s!!" I can even tell you with 99% accuracy what I am eating out of that bowl, if anyone is interested.



I didn’t set out on this trip with any dedicated notions of “finding myself” or having any great revelations, but I knew when I set off that I needed to go “home” as an adult.  I thought to myself about a previous trip with my father for a friend’s wedding and how he was driving and I was the passenger. I said to myself, “Things look different in the driver’s seat than they do in the passenger’s seat.” I was speaking about how the landscape literally can look different if you are the driver versus the passenger, but it’s quite a true statement about life in general.  It’s active versus passive.  This time I needed to be active and then I found out it’s not my home.  That little town isn’t where I’m from. It’s not the place that molded and shaped me into the person I am today.  It was a great place to grow up and likely still is, but it’s not my home.

That was a hard realization to take, even though I am sure I knew it deep down already.  I’m glad I went – and gladder still for the friends I was able to see and sad over those I did not get to see – but I’m not ever going back again. I pulled out of the hotel parking lot my last day there and in my heart I bid that town a farewell and yes, I even cried a little bit.  That’s what you do when you put something aside and move on I guess.  I doubt anyone noticed, but several days later, after I was home, I even removed that town as being where I am from on Facebook.  You know nothing is ever official until it happens on Facebook right? 

I am so glad I took the time to get away for a while, see friends and family, visit one of my favorite states – how can you not love all the history that abides in the great state of Virginia?!?! -  and get some time away from work. I came back with a peace that I didn’t know I was looking for, but found anyway.   And now I am ready to acknowledge that I am “from” South Carolina.  It’s the state that really raised me, after all.

Sitting in the backyard swing with one of our dogs, Riddles, in the spring of 1982, 3 years before we would move out of Chester, VA.

 

I don't remember growing older...

Does aging just hit you out of the blue? I'm not talking about looking as if you are aging. Thankfully that is usually a slow process.  Which is actually kinda sneaky now that I think about it, but still much less traumatic than waking up overnight and seeing that your face has aged 10 years in 8 hours.

What I'm talking about is the reality of it - the thoughts and feelings and whatever else.  Does it simply hit you out of the blue?  Sneak up on you when you aren't looking?  Because that's how I've been feeling lately and I'd be a much happier person if that would stop.  Like...now.  Pronto. 

Oh, it's not that I don't realize I am getting older - my knees remind me of this daily, if nothing else does - but I'm not sure I fully grasped this situation until some time recently.  Perhaps I have simply ignored the fact that I am getting older, but lately it seems to be thrown in my face with regularity.  Not by anyone but myself really, but still.  Ouch.  Whether it is my health issues or...or....or, well, other stuff, it's there. It's out there! On no!!! Run for the hills!! It's out there!!!  Except my knees can barely tolerate walking down a flight of stairs, let alone running.

Yesterday it occurred to me that my life hasn't turned out the way I had expected it to.  I then thought, "Well, how did you expect it to turn out?" and I didn't have an answer.  Mostly because I still think I have miles and miles of road in front of me when the reality is that if I am lucky, then I am currently middle aged. That would mean I live until my early 80s, but there's not guarantee of that.

Too many thoughts in my head about this right now.  I know I'm thinking too much - I over-think pretty much everything.  All. The. Time.  But is it just me or does aging hit other people out of the blue?  I knew I would get older one day (or be dead, so older is likely the preferable alternative if someone is in good health and able to take care of themselves), but I don't think I really believed it would happen.  *sigh*  The follies of youth!  I guess if I am fortunately enough to only be at middle age right now, then I need to consider how I want to live the rest of the years I am granted here on Earth.  I have no clue, but I suppose it's time I find out.

In which I read miles into a simple look on a man's face

I have been an observer of people lately it seems.  I have quality time at my local airport every week as a volunteer, so I do a lot of people watching those days, but these are other times that have popped up recently.  In the lobby waiting for “Jersey Boys” to start and again this past Friday at a Celtic music concert.  It’s interesting to me to see how people walk and move and what they wear. How the interact with others or their expressions while they just stand there waiting for someone. 

Friday night I attended a Celtic music concert in town that kicked off a weekend festival. I had heard one band before, Rathkeltair, and had heard of another, Seven Nations (though technically I did see their original lineup play a reunion show in 2006) and one was totally foreign (pardon the upcoming pun) to me, the Scottish medieval rock band Saor (pronounced Shore) Patrol.  While I really want to write a whole story on the woman that was dancing with a light pole during the Seven Nations set and shaking it so much that those of us closest to her honestly thought it was going to come crashing down on us, I won’t.  You had to be there for that or at least have video and I actually do have enough manners not to take pictures of people possibly embarrassing themselves, though I have to say that the lady in question was having fun and didn’t care who was looking and, thankfully, also did not turn it into a true pole dance.  For that, I’m sure everyone was grateful.

During the music I would look around now and then and observe what people were doing.  Mostly just milling about, kids running, friends greeting each other, and sadly for others, getting up to leave early. I mean, if they left before Saor Patrol came on then it was a huge mistake.  Such a great group to see live and such amazing power from the drummers.  As they were taking the stage and getting going, I looked off to my right and saw the lead singer of Seven Nations, Kirk McLeod, departing.  He’d hung around awhile, talking to the previously mentioned dancing fan and some other folks, but he’d now packed up his guitar and, with it slung over his shoulder, he was heading up a slight incline, most likely headed to his car and back to his hotel.  As I watched, he looked back once at what was happening on the stage, turned, and continued his slow and steady steps until he was out of my sight, hidden by the bushes.

The look on that man’s face spoke volumes to me.  I saw worlds flash in that face, in just those few minutes.  Maybe it was the dark night that surrounded him or the cast of the lighting from the aforementioned light pole as it hit his face.  I’m not sure, but he looked tired.  Pensive.  Resigned.  Peaceful.  So many different adjectives came to mind.  I wondered what was going through his mind at that moment, when I watched him do what looked like bid a farewell to the night and walk away with the resignation that one gig was over, but more were to come and perhaps there was no rest for the weary.  The slowness of his step, the look he cast over his shoulder.  Those made me feel like this was a man who has lived a lot in his life and he’s tired, at least for that night.  I wished he’d turn toward the crowd so I could have waved to him as in those few seconds, I felt like he needed a wave and a smile.   

Sad.  Contemplative.  Determined.  Just what was going on in your head Kirk?  Well, I’ll never know I suppose as we aren’t likely to cross paths again in this life except over a merchandise table at next year’s festival, but I am going to keep wondering. I can see his face in my mind and I can’t help wondering just what he was thinking.  Some say that it’s a woman’s nature to read into things much more than is there and I imagine I am doing that in this case.  It’s not like the man had had a bad night as a cheering crowd had greeted his band’s music with enthusiasm and perhaps he was truly tired and ready for sleep or relaxation with friends and family (my understanding is that the band got its start in my hometown which is only an hour away, so maybe he had people waiting on him for a visit).  As I said, I’ll never know, but his lone look back over his shoulder, the slow and steady pace with which he walked, the lighting of the night, it all came together to paint a lovely and interesting picture for me.  So I’ll go on wondering what was playing through his head every time his music plays through my speakers.  And I’ll be grateful for that one moment that he knows nothing about, but that I found oh so fascinating.

You say it's your birthday

I love my birthday. I think it's a day that should be celebrated far and wide, high and low, and preferably with a lot of presents and baked goods.  The trouble is, no one else shares that enthusiasm.  For MY birthday, that is. Everyone else is pretty enthusiastic about their big day though.  And you know what?  That's ok.

I'm slow. I admit it.  Sometimes it takes a while for me to clue in to things that other people seem to get pretty easily. I think part of it is just denial and me not wanting to accept the situation. Other times, my brain simply does not work the way that it needs to in order to truly grasp something.  There are reasons I'm not an astrophysicist you know. 

One thing I finally decided to acknowledge and understand this year is that no one cares about your birthday except you. Oh, it's not a 100% thing of course. I have family members and I care about their birthdays and things like that, but for the most part, can anyone honestly say that they get excited to the same level about someone else's birthday as you do about your own?  I question the veracity if you can.  That being the case, this year I finally decided to admit that I am the only person who really gets excited about my birthday.  For years I've wanted other people to appreciate it as much as I do, but that has only lead to years of letdowns and quite honestly, some hypocriticalness (is that a word?) on my part because it's not like I'm bending over backwards to make anyone else's birthday a super special occasion.  It's not like I remember to send cards or presents or anything, so there's simply no logic in having that expectation of others sending things to me.



In the zoo gardens. Purple is my favorite color.

Armed at last with this knowledge, I chose this year to let it go and do things that made me happy without giving much, if any, thought to whether or not anyone else even cared that it was "my special day".  It was pretty nice I must say.  I took a couple of days off work and made it a nice, long weekend. I booked a massage, I did a lot of window shopping and walking around, and I went to the zoo here in town, which is one of my favorite things to do. I only ever go once a year, but once is enough for me really.  After nearly 3 hours of walking around, my feet were grateful that it doesn't happen more than once a year too.  I considered going to the State Fair, but never having been a fair goer (I have literally gone to one fair in my life and that was 20 years ago), the appeal wasn't great. Don't even get me started on how I can't eat fair food. Not unless I wanted to be praying for death at how sick it would make me.



Color is one of my favorite things.  The botanical gardens were a great site for finding all the colors.

So now my birthday has come and gone. Friends and family were kind enough to acknowledge it with texts or emails or cards, but there was no big celebration.  Oh sure, I bought myself some cupcakes (and someone was even kind enough to have offered to make me a cake, but I declined) and have eaten one of them, but there was no great fanfare.  And that's ok.  Not that I'd mind some fanfare, but maybe now it's no longer required. 



I'd love a yard that looks like this...without me having to do any work!

 

Regrets, I've had a few...

...but then again, too few to mention...

Or so sings Frank Sinatra.  We all have regrets and I would always rather regret something did than something I didn't do, but I'll be damned if they can't gunk up the works and sneak up on you sometimes. 

Regrets have been in my mind a lot this week and I'm not really sure why.  There are many things I do and do not do that I never feel regret over.  Usually if I do have regrets, it's when I decide late at night that I'm just sooooo hungry I have to eat something and feel queasy afterwards or toss and turn, getting a lousy night's sleep.  Or it's when I've spoken in anger and haste and hurt someone.  Said or done something I can't take back, but oh how I wish that I could.  But you can't go back and change the past; only use it as a guide to making better decisions and choices in the future. 

This week I'm regretting little things like forgetting to buy yogurt at the store last night since it likely means I'll have to make a second trip one day soon.  Or not going to bed on time and being pretty darned tired most days this week.  These are things I can change for the future, but for some reason the biggest regret in my head is about the Mystery Man I met in the Dubai airport back in the summer of 2001.  I've blogged about him at least once over the years, but for some reason he is front and center in my mind this week. I have no idea why or how he popped up, but there he is.  Maybe there is something going on and he needs my prayers, so God has put him in my mind.  Maybe I'm feeling adrift as I try to sort some things out in my life and MM represents a time when someone appeared rather at random and offered encouragement.  Maybe I'm searching for that again right now. I honestly do. not. know. why he has been on my mind this week.  You can't change the past and it is safe to say that this is not someone I will ever cross paths with again.  But I'm glad that I KNOW God hears my prayers and He looks in on this man whenever I pray for him.

Eh. I just felt like getting that out of my system today. That's what blogging is for sometimes.  Putting it "out there", if for no other reason than to get it out of yourself.

What do you mean Jake Ryan isn't real?!?

Last night, I realized that Jake Ryan isn't real.

I'm nearly 42-years-old.

I'm also kinda slow. *grin*

Sixteen Candles was on and, as always, when it airs I find it necessary to stop and watch.  I come from the 80s. It's what we women do when we were girls in the 80s.  I think it's genetically programmed into my DNA or something.

Watching out of habit, I slowly became disinterested and changed channels to...something. I'm not really sure what.  This surprised me.  Is it possible that *gasp* I've finally outgrown Jake Ryan?!?! Say it isn't so!! 

Oh, I know Jake Ryan isn't real.  No one ever wants to admit it, but we know it. Heck, there have been articles written about it.  I was sad that I couldn't even muster up the usual enthusiasm or enjoyment when watching the final scene.  Oh-so-swoonworthy in my younger years, I could only think, "Yeah, that would never happen in real life."

*sigh*  I hate those moments.  Those grown-up moments.  Sort of like how I got really excited when my orthopaedic flip flops arrived from Zappos.com today.  The times, they are a'changin'. 

Farewell Jake Ryan, you perfect boy/boyfriend from the 80s.  I will miss you so...*whispering* but I'll probably still come back to visit you now and then.

You Think You Know Andrew McCarthy, But You Don't

I always wondered what happened to Andrew McCarthy.  You know, the actor arguably most famous as the object of Molly Ringwald’s affection in Pretty in Pink.

Even as a huge John Hughes fan, the movie Pretty in Pink wasn’t necessarily a big favorite of mine, nor was St. Elmo’s Fire, which may be McCarthy’s other most well-known role (sorry, I totally bypassed Weekend at Bernie’s in my viewing history).  Outside of that, I have to use Google to remind myself which films McCarthy has made during his career, but this really isn’t meant as a shot toward the actor himself.  Simply how he wasn’t one of my favorite Brat Packers (a label I believe they all eschew), so I never really kept up.  I remember him popping up as the “white guy” in The Joy Luck Club and some Hallmark Channel movie he filmed with Teri Polo, but overall I’m not really that familiar with his films.

A few years back I was thrilled to see his “comeback” when he was in the cast of the TV show Lipstick Jungle, but that, too, didn’t last very long.  Somewhere along the road I heard that he had become a travel writer, but not being one to read travel magazines, I once again gave it very little thought.  

Then a few months ago I hunted him up on Twitter. I like Twitter for finding celebrities that might not be quite in the brightest spotlight anymore, people that I love still because they remind me of my youth, people that keep me entertained.  Andrew McCarthy doesn’t tweet that much, but he does now and again, so I’ve stuck around.  

Late last year I recall he was out on some of the chat shows hawking a book he had written.  I watched a few of the interviews and thought, “Some day I’ll pick up this book”, but it took me a while to go hunting.  A couple of weeks back I finally, after living here more than a year, went to the local library and got my card.  Immediately I went hunting in the biography section and found his book - The Longest Way Home: One Man's Quest for the Courage to Settle Down - along with Molly Ringwald’s Getting the Pretty Back. 

 

 

While certainly an interesting read at times, Molly’s book was a pretty quick read and not a biography at all, so it was definitely misfiled in the stacks.  Her book is more of a few random bits of her life interspersed with Molly’s tips on fashion and makeup and lifestyle.  Again, not uninteresting, but I’ve read enough books that tell me what I should or should not eat/do/think/wear that I’m really over it. I read it and it rolls right over me and I go back to wearing my beloved Converse Looney Tunes low tops with Daffy Duck on one side and neon flowers on the other.

Andrew’s book, however, really touched me.  He is a truly engaging and wonderful writer. His stories don’t make me want to scale Mt. Kilimanjaro as he did, but I found myself truly relating to a lot of what he was writing about himself.  This book details his quest to find himself and open himself up to his impending marriage with his long-time partner (and now-wife), whom he refers to as “D” (her name is actually Dolores).  He tells stories of his travels and of his life and weaves it all together so that the reader sees and understands where he is coming from.  I felt as if I was with him floating on the boat down the Amazon River or sweltering in the Baltimore heat, but more than that, I felt a connection to the writer (he bills himself first as a writer and second as an actor) and saw myself in things he revealed about himself. Not to go into too much detail, but McCarthy paints a picture of himself as a lifelong loner and when reading about that, I kept thinking, “This is me. This is so me.”  Because it is.  

He gives being a writer top billing, over acting.  That's telling to me.

I operate quite a bit on my own.  I always have.  As a little girl, there were 3 little boys and one little girl in my neighborhood, so I learned to play by myself and be ok with it. I think that is part of why I always want to have a TV on in the house as background noise – because when I was a kid I would be playing with my Barbies or doing something or other, but I would have the TV in my room on with whatever sitcom was in syndication and the noise made me feel like I was not alone.

I related to things in this book like the need to get away from other people and be on my own.  This pull that has you getting up and sneaking out, just to get away.  Just so many things he wrote about I could see in me. 

I wish I could truly describe how good this book was, how much I really enjoyed it, but nothing I say will do it justice. I can only suggest that you run out and get a copy to read for yourself.  Because you may think you know Andrew McCarthy, but you don’t. However, it seems that the man clearly knows himself and we are better for his sharing.

What have you done with your life?

I was reading my friend Mary's blog where she was discussing turning 30 - and yes, I was smiling to myself since I am well over 30 now - and she had one post listing things she had done in her 30 years on this planet.  I enjoyed reading that list and thought it would be interesting (for me, anyway) to come up with my own list.  It's so easy to have a bad day and think that life is lousy or have several bad days and wonder why "nothing good ever happens to me!" and other such nonsense that we are all prone to. I wanted to take a little time to remind myself that lots of good, even great, things have happened in my life in these nearly 42 years.

• I've ridden so many roller coasters in my life that I've lost count. I'm horribly afraid of heights, but I love the adrenaline rush of the speed of a coaster, so I keep going back.
• I've watched my nieces grow from tiny babies into lovely young ladies.
•  I've picked up my life and moved to a foreign country.
•  I've seen my favorite band, Bon Jovi, live in concert 7 times, being close enough at least once to share some communication with my favorite band member, even if it was only for 30 seconds and meant more to me than it ever would to him.
• I've fulfilled a life's dream by being able to travel to Australia for 5 weeks.
• I've attended my 20th high school reunion and had more fun than I think you're supposed to have at one of those things.
• I had a super cute date for my junior prom (and still get a great Christmas card every year from his wife showing off their wonderful family) who was quite sought after by other girls. I call that my "high school coup".  And my dress was pretty freakin' awesome too!
• I've performed live theater.
• I've traveled to Europe (and will again!! I believe that!).
• I've tried new things and failed and then gone back and tried more new things.
• I've lost people I've loved and still gotten up and kept going.
• I've embarrassed myself in public and lived to see another day.
• I've graduated high school, college and graduate school.
• I've had blond hair, black hair, red hair, and brown hair.
• I've seen the boy who broke my heart become the man who made it a point to apologize for it...and forgiven him.
• I've learned how much joy you can get from giving..
• I've made new friends and kept old friends.
• I've handled things well and I've handled things badly and hopefully learned from both.
• I've worn ridiculously crazy clothes in public and refused to be embarrassed about it.
• I've faced some of my fears and given myself permission to not feel obligated to push those limits ever again.
• I've given myself permission to not be afraid of or ashamed of who I am.

I could probably keep going on if I spent enough time thinking about it and I probably will eventually. It's so easy to find fault with ourselves or our lives and so much harder to stop and say, "Hey, this is pretty great!" or to pat ourselves on the back for a job well done.  But if we don't tell ourselves those things, then who will?

Oh, be quiet

Silence is the true friend that never betrays.  ~ Confucius

I was quiet yesterday.  Not busy.  Not loud.  Not, well, not anything but quiet.

I'm not usually quiet, although I am an introvert by nature. Those two things don't really make sense, but they are true nonetheless.  I was a very shy child and still am quite shy in certain social situations.  I hate crowds or any large group of people where I don't know folks and don't have "my person" to latch onto so that I know I have a guaranteed person to talk to.  I'd much rather stay home and read a book than put myself through the torture of an awkward and unenjoyable social gathering.

Yesterday was different though. I wasn't bypassing anything to seek out my solitude, I just decided to be quiet.  Truth be told, I have been taking a few turns at being "down in the dumps" lately and I was feeling a bit of that yesterday, so maybe that actually did propel me into a quiet day.  It matters not, however, because I needed the quiet for whatever reason and got it.  Demanded it, in fact.  Enjoyed it, most assuredly. 

Silence is a source of great strength.  ~ Lao Tzu

I listened to the rain coming down, softly at times and with the accompaniment of loud, crashing thunder at others. 

I sat on my couch and savored the sound of silence, along with the darkness of a rain storm. 

I took a nap with nothing but the occasional sound of the air conditioner whirring away in the background.

I read a book and really focused and concentrated on it. 

I very deliberately turned the TV off, which I seldom do as I usually like the background noise to go along with the hustle and bustle of whatever I think needs to be hustled and bustled.

I deliberately stayed off of social media (with the exception of a few tweets during the Tony Awards). 

I was quiet.  And I liked it.   And it was really, really good for me.  It's time for me to be quiet more.  I've said all I have to say today.  And that's a good thing.

Not merely an absence of noise, Real Silence begins when a reasonable being withdraws from the noise in order to find peace and order in his inner sanctuary.  ~ Peter Minard 

Things I Learned at a High School Graduation

I attended my first high school graduation last night since my own graduation 24 years ago.  While we waited for my niece's ceremony to start, I tried to think back and remember my own graduation and...I can't. I don't. I've got...nothing.  I mean, it happened. I know it happened because they let me into college and they usually don't unless you manage to actually get through high school and have the diploma to prove it.  My memory is overall pretty great, but on this event, I seem to draw a blank.

Proof that I graduated from high school.  Uh...that kind looks like me, right?  Me then, at least.

 I did, however, learn a few things at this most recent graduation ceremony.

1)  Teenager girls like to wear very high heels.  When did this happen? Has this always been going on? I do not remember that when I was a teen, but then, I'm in my 40s now and I still do not like to wear high heels.  Definitely not the sky high ones I saw teetering and tottering across that stage last night.  I am truly baffled.  It was either high heels or an array of flip flops.  The mind reels. 

2)  Teenage girls also need to learn to cover up.  Or wear pants.  I know, I know, that sounds prudish and if so, then I'll  own it and revel in it, but damn, those girls need to cover up a little bit! Not all of them, but some of them. Seriously.  I saw a few too many dresses cut nearly up to their behinds and I don't want to see that on any woman, but especially not a teenager.  For me, that shows someone without a lot of respect for themselves.  Someone will likely tell me that it's just how fashion is these days and blah blah blah, but I'm still a fan of some modesty. Just because you've got it, doesn't mean you need to flaunt it.  Especially  not if you're a young girl.

3)  People are rude and trashy, no matter where you go.  This was out in full force last night from the people who chose to ignore the request by the school AND by the senior class not to hoot and holler for their specific graduate.  That was something else I simply did not understand.  Everyone was asked not to do that, soooo...why did people still do it?  Is it simply because we live in a world where people no longer seem to care about propriety or respect or decorum?  Where the Kardashians are looked up to as role models, but the leaders of the world - be the religious or political or whatever - are bashed at every opportunity?  Or is it just because some people are low class and trashy?  Because that's what I consider that behavior - plain old low class and trashy.  What added insult to injury was that at least 50% of the people who did it would laugh and smile and immediately get up and start to leave the venue because they knew they were going to be kicked out.  They knew, but they did not care.  Maybe I'm just a rule-follower and I'm ok with that, but I was offended and annoyed by the behavior last night.  Try to stay classy people.  At least try.

4)  Did I mention that people are rude and trashy?  We had the "pleasure" of having a lady and her little boy come sit behind us last night and she yapped the entire time. Yapyapyapyapyapyapyap.  And her kid would not shut up either. I felt bad for him because he was maybe 5, in which case he really should not have been there and expected to sit still and be quiet.  I have enough trouble doing that at my age; I rarely expect it out of a little person like that.  My sister-in-law definitely did not appreciate him kicking her seat.  Finally my ex-sister-in-law turned around to the woman - who had been keeping up a running dialogue with...someone...about whether or not to hoot and holler for her daughter (she did) and how everyone else was doing it and once she did it how her daughter was not going to be happy about it - and told her that they either had to shut up or leave. The woman looked at her and said, "Really??" to which the reply was "Yes, really."  She muttered something about my ex-SIL being rude (clearly, she needed a mirror to hold up to herself) and a few minutes later she did finally leave.  Blessed silence ensued. I've never been so grateful.

5)  High school kids are pretty much the same throughout history.  And I mean that in a good way.  They were hopeful and excited and ready to graduate and celebrate.  They seemed to have a great time tossing their hats in the air at the end and shouting out a few school spirit cheers (I assume that's what it was since I couldn't actually understand it).  I imagine most, if not all, of them were sitting there wondering what the future was going to hold and what life was like outside of high school.  The speeches some of them gave were basically what you'd expect to hear from high schoolers on the verge of spreading their wings.  "Look forward, remember to also look back.  Cherish the memories and the friendships because we will never all be together like this again."  The more things change, the more they stay the same...

6)  You can compete and still be friends.  The valedictorian and salutatorian gave their speeches together, each taking a turn with what they wanted to say.  They talked about how they met freshman year and both wanted to be the valedictorian of the class and kept up that friendly competition throughout high school.  The young ladies said that they knew the class was all going their separate ways now, but hoped that some people would remain friends and that one day everyone would have at least one person still in their lives that they could say "I've known them since high school."  They knew that they would be that person for each other.  I hope the rest of the class was listening to them and that their wish for their classmates will come true.

Ah yes, I do not remember my own high school graduation, but I imagine it went a little something like all of that (except maybe more big hair than short skirts).  I wouldn't want to go back and have to do it all again, but I'm not sorry I was there the first time.  I've got a 25th reunion on the horizon next year and I'm still on the fence about going or not going to that.  I loved being at my 20th reunion, but sometimes it better to keep looking forward than to spend any more time looking back.