The other day I realized how many years it’s been since I graduated from high school. Let’s just say that the number gave me pause for thought. Mainly I thought back to the only class reunion I attended (it was either the 5-year or 10-year reunion — can’t remember and not interested enough to look it up). Thank goodness I was enjoying a hearty cuppa Assam at the time that thought struck me. The tea kept me from totally freaking out. High School… ugh!
A lot of folks think back on their high school years as a time when they were at their best, on top of everything, and the world was their oyster containing a huge, perfect pearl called their future. Others wish to relive a critical moment during those formative years when they made a decision that sent their life off in a direction other than they had planned (as seen in the surprisingly good 17 Again — one of the better of that genre, although Zac Efron is waaaaay cuter than Matthew Perry). Still others just want to keep moving ahead into a future that is many times better than any they could have imagined back then. That last one is me. So why bother to go to a class reunion? Two words: my sister.
Siblings can be wonderful things. The older ones often help you with the things they’ve already learned, from tying shoes to driving cars. The younger ones we try to teach in our turn. On the other hand, siblings can be a pain in the… well, anyway, I got the invitation to the class reunion and foolishly did not put it into the ubiquitous “round file.” Enter my sister for her latest surprise visit to my apartment so she could pick at the décor (or, according to her, the lack of décor). Like a hawk that has espied that tiny mouse that is to be his dinner, she saw the invitation and zeroed in on it, clutching it tightly in hand.
“You’re going, aren’t you?” (It wasn’t really a question.)
After an hour of her haranguing me, I finally consented to go with her promising to do my hair and make-up and help me select a dress. All dolled up, I arrived at the reunion. At first, it seemed as if time had stood still. Several former classmates seemed to be exactly as they were back then (but more formally attired as I was). Oh, dear! The feeling overwhelmed me that I should have stayed home with a lovely pot of that wonderful new tea blend I just bought. Too late, though, since the folks at the sign-in table had spotted me.
“Oh, haaaaaayyiiiiii!!! Gee, don’t you look so much better… uh, greaaatttt! What’s your name again?”
The rest of the event was downhill from there. Some lauded their accomplishments, others reveled in their past high school glories, and still others were just trying to show that they were not the geeks and dorks they had been thought to be. As for me, I was saying “hi” a lot, nodding politely at the chatter going on around me when any of it seemed to come my direction, sipping some very lame punch, and picturing that lovely tea.
Suffice it to say that I haven’t gone back since. Now, if they chose to hold a tea party class reunion, I might be tempted. After all, tea makes almost anything tolerable.
See more of A.C. Cargill’s articles here.
© Online Stores, Inc., and The English Tea Store Blog, 2009-2014. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this article’s author and/or the blog’s owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Online Stores, Inc., and The English Tea Store Blog with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.