Class of '88

Thinking of you lovely, fresh-faced high school seniors, gearing up for the big grad. The dresses, the tuxes, the dances, the dogwoods...the dates. Yes, it is that time of year and it is your time to shine. Enjoy yourself; you deserve it. Try not to kill yourself too; your parents deserve that.

I'm also thinking of us oldies, perhaps not as fresh-faced and nearing a different definition of "senior" but gearing up this season just the same. Gearing up for the high school reunion.

While my big 20 was almost two years ago, there is a new crop of reunioners heading to the gyms and tanning salons in a town near you. Right now. 38+-year olds hoping to wow their former classmates and crushes with their narrow waists and broad accomplishments. My advice to them: do it, go 2.0 or go home! You do want to look and feel your best when you see your old friends and flames but here is something else I'll share: it won't really matter in the end because in no time, you'll feel like you're with the people that know you best. Like your family, except that they won't hold things against you or make you feel guilty. But I digress.


However weird and nervous I felt at the start of my 20-year high school reunion, the most unexpected thing happened, I felt home. I felt like I had walked through the front door of a home I had built 20 years earlier, and although slightly embarrassed by the shag rug and velvet "paintings", I was relieved to see that my favorite chair and big comfy couch were right where I'd left them. I sunk into my old friends like they were cushions that knew my shape and form. My high school friends were memory foam and they felt damn good.

There are many reasons why this lovely old home and its contents took me by surprise. I may have built it 20 years ago, but I was no craftsman; some of the floors were slanting and I had written on some of the walls and thrown up in the toilet more times than was reasonable. I didn't always make the right colour choices or install things correctly. I had hung cheap drapes in a few of the rooms. I broke some of the dishes, on purpose.


But this house didn't care. Not one bit. It knew I wasn't perfect. It wasn't perfect either. It also hadn't actually noticed some of that lame stuff I had done. We had both aged and we had both grown into ourselves. My old friends are the people that will always know me best not only because we began the building of our future selves together but also because we spent many years with just each other's foundations and learned to love them, cracks and all.

When we signed each other's yearbooks at the end of that June, 1988, most of us knew we might never see each other again, and some of those people I probably never will. But if you get a chance, even at the ripe old age of 38, find the key under the mat and let yourself in. Go home.


Congrats, Class of 2010.


Love,
the Class of '88















Remember this one?

	Naked Eyes - Always Something There to Remind Me .mp3
	Found at bee mp3 search engine

Kick-Ass and My Week Being Bullied

So when did I become your doormat, huh? No, seriously, at what point in this godforsaken week did you decide, "Geez, Fiona's just been coasting along for awhile; time for me to give 'er the ol' 1-2"? Seriously.

Although I thought it started last Monday (I mean who isn't waiting for an ass-kickin' on a Monday), if I'm really truly honest with myself, it started last Friday. Last Friday. My big trip to the big smoke being a big girl business woman. Big time. I should have known then. Many things were great about that big girl business trip. Fancy shmancy hotel. Two meetings at major-ish bookstores. A good friend for company.

Wait, we were talking about Monday. Right. Well, as not to bore you completely or well, bore you completely, the short of it is: I've spent the past year trying to organize, coordinate, and plan a birthday slash family reunion bash in Mexico for 35 of my multi-aged, multi-interest, highly-dysfunctional extended family members. On Monday, one of those extended (too far, in my opinion, like an LOC) fm's decided to bail out of the plan and take 9 fm's with her, sending my plans and hotel discounts down the toilet.

I emailed. I facebooked. But what about all my plans? What about everyone else? She tried to make me feel bad. It worked. I did. Terribly. For three days. But why?

Oh yeah, last Friday. But wait, I haven't told you about Tuesday yet.

Now, technically, Tuesday was indirect bullying. Bully by proxy if you wish. Nonetheless, I came home to a defeated husband whose Mum had successfully sucked the wind from his sails. She must have used the full force of the past to reduce him to rubble. However horrible he felt, I'm certain I felt even worse. It was as if she had stabbed her forefinger in my chest over and over and...

What day are we on? Shit. Let me cut to the chase.

Last night, I took my teenager to see Kick Ass. I LOVED it. I loved the kids, the costumes, Nicolas Cage, the totally-warped-yet-somehow-true moral of the story. I loved the sweet beginning of empathy and compassion for humanity. The willingness to put your life on the line for what is right. I loved the dawning of reality and pragmatism and still the willingness.

My teenager had tried to turn his responsibilities and his anger around not having met them on me one hour before we sat in that movie theatre. Last Friday, a manipulating bookstore buyer tried to convince me to give him my books for free. That same night, a dear friend implied I was responsible for my husband's lack of eye contact and disengagement with her and that it was an unacceptable situation for her. This morning, while I watched my 5-year old in swimming lessons, a man called me disgusting and swore at me because I was wearing my running shoes approximately 2 inches from the change room doorstep. He yelled something about imaginary dog shit. I cried. Three grown men stood to my left, in their shoes, not speaking.

So I guess it's not my week. For those who know me, I know that you know that I know there are many people out there with far larger, more painful struggles than those in my week of being bullied. And lord knows, I'm far from perfect; I sometimes yell at my kids and am mean to my husband and drink too much wine. But I know injustice, and as soon as I can whip up my costume, I'll knock you out of the bullying game.
KAPOW!

Rock it Joan:

	Joan Jett - Bad Reputation .mp3
	Found at bee mp3 search engine