Reuniting

This past weekend was my 20th college reunion. At the risk of sounding, well - like everyone, I can't believe college happened 20 years ago. I've been to every reunion so far seeing as I live fairly close to campus. A quick 40 minute drive provides no reason NOT to go. And I loved college. For me, college was a turning point. It was for many, I know. But for me, it was the first time I was not a gymnast. I met people with varied interests. I was perceived as someone who could do things other than flip. I developed an identity that would be more me than the one I already had.

I loved seeing everyone this weekend. I've stayed in touch with many friends since then. But we are never all together. What a treat.

I still consider the friends I made at Stanford some of my best. I was privileged to have met some of the most interesting people I know, to this day. Smart, ambitious, kind, funny. June who runs the Ted Conference. Alex who writes New Yorker cartoons and other more widely seen and read commercial things. What a group!

And what luck that they let me in to this bastion of intellectual endeavor (the #1 university the year I was admitted), in all likelihood because I was good at doing tricks on the balance beam. Not that kind of tricks. A more altogether useless kind.

I waited every day to be found out. To be identified as the mistake. To have some official come knocking at my door and say: I'm sorry. We're going to have to ask you to leave. You are simply not smart enough to be here. Somehow I escaped that fate by secretly studying when everyone else (in the Humanities) seemed to skate by. People in pre-Med studied. People in Engineering studied. But not people in Communications (what's that?!) or Political Science (my two inauspicious majors - I added a second out of sheer fear of being lame).

The Tuesday night before the weekend of the reunion I saw my first Stanford friend - Lance. He lived in my freshman dorm. We became friends fast. We dated. He came out. It set me up for a life of falling for gay men. We're still friends. Though Lance is the type that is friends with EVERYONE so it is always hard to know where you stand. Am I an acquaintance? Am I the BFF? Does it matter?

Here's us with the (my) boyfriend:

Daniel, the boyfriend, is the brother of a fellow Stanford-ite. My class. He came with me to all the festivities perhaps thinking that there might be a person or two he'd know from having visited. That turned out to not really be true but he was a good sport, smiled and met everyone. And read a book when it all got too boring. I can't imagine how boring it was to watch me ... "Hi! [hug] How are you? Where do you live these days? How many kids? Ok I see _______! Gotta go!" But he did it. With a smile.

This guy is a keeper. As everyone noted.

I spent Friday night and most of Saturday with "my girls". We talked, we laughed, we made a little fun. We investigated the passings of the short list of those identified as no longer with us. Not uncommonly, I suppose, a large percentage of the deceased died by suicide. I guess at this age, what could still be considered "early death", accidents and suicides are often the cause.

We were grateful to all be together. They loved Daniel, of course. And this part - the more intimate part with "the girls" - was conceivably less boring for him as these ladies know his brother. We were "of a group" - one of the ladies having actually dated the brother. Yes it's all very weird. But makes sense in a karmic kind of way.

There were many locals in attendance. We promised to hang out soon. We may. We may not. I will inevitably continue to see the ones I see and talk to already. Sweet Rae. June of Ted fame. Lance, my first gay. Fraize, when I visit Chicago which I assume will happen more now (more than never) as Daniel's parents live there.

I have no grand point to make here other than to say I love my friends. Stanford provided me with the opportunity to meet some truly remarkable people. I'm honored that they let me in and that these fine folks have opted to stay friends with me through thick and thin.

On a side note, divorce was not an uncommon theme at this reunion. I suppose it's the time. Many married in their early thirties. We're in our early forties. Ten years? If it's not gonna work it is time to call it. The admission was often met with an almost congratulatory tone. The tone of those that know that marriage can be hard. And sometimes it's too hard for it to be right or worth it. I'm in awe of those who still make it work. Good pickin'.