(Most Of) The Kids Are All Right…

…or, as The Who put it – alright.


Grammar can be so lame.

All right.


They both seem okay to me, but only one is correct (that’s all right if you’re playing along).

Sorry, I didn’t mean to get all English teacher geeky on you. I was just giving this post a title and the all right / alright argument presented itself.

(These guys don’t take no crap)

Okay, next…

Anyway, speaking of the title – I was recently added to a Facebook group for my upcoming 20th class reunion. Mind you, I didn’t join the group, I was added, but while I bail on most groups I’ve been added to without my initial permission, it’s been kind of interesting seeing what’s become of the class of ’92.

I haven’t kept in touch with anybody.

I’m awful.

But seriously. High school was simply four frustrating years of doing what had to be done before Real Life actually got started. It wasn’t so bad. I was a decent student. I had lots of chums. I was cool with the experience.

(Our mascot) ;-/

I wasn’t into school spirit. Instead, I prefered grimacing at the happy-headed idiocy and keeping it low key. I hung with a group of friends from elementary school all the way on up through the tenth grade (smart kids) and then I joined a band and ended up spending the rest of my school days hanging out with a completely different crowd (partiers).

Since, the further and further away we get, the less and less I seem to remember.

It’s kind of depressing.

I surf an army of names and profiles and my brain grinds, searching and sputtering and hissing like a corrupted hard drive, trying to pull info. Faded memory sparks. I get vague impressions. Something significant fires here and there, but it’s weird how much I can’t recall. It was a long time ago, but I have plenty of other old memories that work just fine. They play out behind my eyes and resonate and do what memories are supposed to do. What happened to my high school memory banks?

(More brains please)

Every so often one of the names triggers a flood of clarity. A dead part of my mind comes alive.

But man, oh man, something in my mental makeup just can’t seem to pull it together. Faces don’t register. Did I actually go to school with these people?

Anyway, it’s nice to see that most everybody is doing well. There’s lots of talk of happy families and good jobs, but then, it’s not all wine and roses. I was shocked to learn that a whole bunch of my former classmates have died. My stomach turned as I read awful news of auto wrecks, cancers, suicides, and even a murder. Life can be too damn cruel, Loyal Reader.

The class is reuniting in Vegas next summer. I’m not going. Like I mentioned, I can barely remember these people. I stalk the Facebook page out of pure curiosity (and, as it turns out, a sickening, morbid fascination). I haven’t chimed in and don’t think I ever will.

One of the classmates informed the group that she only attended our high school for one semester in her 9th grade year. Her family moved away and that was that. Still, she interacts as if she went to school with these guys forever. It’s odd, huh? Does she have another class reunion at the school she graduated from? And how can she remember anything at all? I went there for four ever-slow-years, every-slow-day, and I can hardly visualize certain parts of the campus. My mental map is all wonky with patches of shadow.

(Always be nice to others)

I’m not hatin’ though. Please, don’t get me wrong. That would be super lame. No. I say, go. It’s cool. There’s nothing wrong with making new friends. She seems to have a great time connecting with her old buddies.

Teaching high school, interacting with these kids, having lucid conversations, building memories, shaping ideas, it’s strange to think that some of them will forget, and some of them will hold on, and some of them will die, and some of them will even be up for rekindling non-relationships with people they used to know.

Just remember that life is cruel, the kids are all right, and it’s the adults we need to be leery of.

Stay cheery!

’til tomorrow, Loyal Reader.


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