Reunions mean old friends, old attitudes

I have been to two reunions in as many weeks. The first was a get-together of my great-grandparent's descendants. It was a beautiful day. Not as many came as there were the first time it was held but we still had a good turnout and I met a few more relatives I hadn't seen before.

The second reunion was my high school reunion. Never mind how many years it has been. There were more people there than were at our family get together.

At the family reunion I knew most of the people and the ones I didn't know were introduced to me.

At the high school reunion we wore name tags and squinted at the markings as we tried to remember who these people were. It didn't help that we were all older and none of us looked the same as we did the last time we had seen each other. The one with inoperable cancer used to be my friend but didn't remember me at all. Please pray for her if you will.

I told people I used to be the skinny girl with long dark brown hair and thick Coke-bottle glasses. They feigned recognition.

At the family reunion we were all different ages but basically the same shape as rag dolls that had been through the washing machine too often. We had the same memories. The high school people were all different shapes but all the same age. Their memories were not the same as mine.

The two events were markedly different in another way. I recognized only three people that I attended high school with. Three people recognized me. It wasn't the same three people.

I tried to relate to and reconnect with my former schoolmates but it didn't work. I had spent my high school years trying to disappear into the background. Apparently I succeeded.

A panic attack set in and I ducked out to breathe then went back in and steeled myself for more awkward conversation. After collecting my free box of tea from a classmate who was a tea distributor, I bid my goodbyes and fled.

I am determined not to subject myself to that again.

I am looking forward to the next family reunion even though I fear that some in attendance won't be with us for many more years.

The thing that bothered me the most about the high school reunion was not the awkwardness, rather it was a girl I recognized who also recognized me.

I remembered Marti as being tall, self-possessed, gorgeous and friendly. I always thought she would make a good model. She is and was a big girl.

It turned out that she had been a schoolteacher for many years. She dealt mostly with special needs children. I thought to myself that she was a perfect person to do that as she is such a comfortable and approachable woman; not to mention smart as they come.

Yet, she feels unattractive. What? Here is a beautiful woman who has made a positive difference in many children's lives and she thinks she is unattractive? Good heavens. What has this world come to when a person judges her worth by the size of her tummy instead of the size of her heart?

It's a good thing our family doesn't judge people that way because all except one of us has more belly than we should. We have teachers, factory workers and retirees in our family. We all consider each other to be worthwhile and, yes, attractive, human beings.

The differences in attitudes between the two groups and my reactions to those attitudes gave me cause for thought. Have I changed that much since high school? Are the beliefs of our family that much outside societal norms? Will I ever again be the skinny girl with long hair and thick glasses?

The only question I can answer with any certainty is the last one. Unless there is some kind of disaster, I will never again be described as I had been so long ago. I hope I never resort to equating beauty with outer appearance. I hope one day Marti realizes that she truly is a beautiful woman. Maybe someday we will all accept that what is inside our hearts is far more important than our outer appearance.

Then again . . . probably not.[[In-content Ad]]