Today I was meandering around Facebook and spent some time looking at the page of the guy I went to my Senior Ball with. We’re not Facebook friends; in fact we last spoke when we ran into each other at the grocery store in 1990. Our conversation went something like this:
Me: I just graduated from Mills.
Him: Did you participate in the demonstration to keep it from becoming co-ed?
Him: That’s unfortunate.
So that was the end of that. But today I just flicked through his pictures, which are all public, and his profile, ditto. He works in government at the opposite end of the political spectrum from me, which does not at all surprise me (although I think back to high school when we joked he’d be President and I’d be First Lady — oh Lord no for so many reasons). He has the same wry/dry/pedantic-yet-self-mocking sense of humor and way of writing, and he looks pretty darn much the same as he did when I last saw him at 23.
And you know, I can’t say this about a lot of my adolescence, but we had a blast at the Senior Ball. I do hope if he’s ever sitting around reminiscing with friends, if the topic of “did you go to the prom?” comes up, he remembers it that way too. Even if he has to follow it up with, “And then she became a feminist!”
I also suddenly remembered the day we graduated, which was the day before my 18th birthday. I was at a party at his house at midnight and he made everyone stop and sing happy birthday to me — one of the few times in my life I’ve ever graciously accepted that song.
So while he may be something of an odd duck, and certainly 180º from me politically (and has apparently gotten religion in the intervening decades, though interestingly it seems to be Catholicism, which I’d not have guessed, especially for such an Anglophile) — it was kind of a nice thing, to see him now and remember then.
Of course then I left the house and went to our mutual hometown for groceries, which was dismal — I totally forgot about Thanksgiving coming up! It was also a little odd to be immediately back home after my walk down memory lane, and then it turned out the only store where I could both park/find stuff I wanted was one I never go to — but the one where that last conversation happened.
But I’m glad I had a fab time that night in June twenty-seven years ago. Everyone needs at least one good memory from high school!