Okay, it wasn't all boring, but most of it .... yeah, pretty much most of was, as I said, "boring as all get out".
I would've been the youngest person there had it not been for the 2003 graduate who was working in the kitchen.
Yes, the 33 year old, grayer than her 43 year old husband, overweight mother of three was the next-to-the-youngest person at an all-school reunion banquet.
Oh man, Paul did NOT want to go, as I chronicled here, but I badgered the poor man into giving in. I harped, nagged, offered, bribed and yes, flat-out whined at him until he had no choice but to agree to attend with me. And even though he had said repeatedly that he didn't want to see any of his old classmates, I thought for sure he'd see someone from 1981 that caused a flood of memories to come a'rushin' back and he'd drag me to a bar afterwards with the whole crew so we could relive his glory days together.
We got there around 5:30 and the one guy that he'd said repeatedly that he hated the most and he hoped wasn't going to be there was just getting out of his truck. Oy. I saw my husband bristle and thought, "Well, that was a fun drive to Wyandotte. Guess we'll be going now," but instead me mumbled something about "Ihatethat[insert expletives here]", but still we were moving toward the door. I was still hopeful. And I could see where he'd have had issues with this guy that he really hated - he just really acted like a jerk. He exhaled jerk-ness and gave off bad vibes. And he was a lot shorter than he looked in the yearbook. I found that kind of funny. In a twisted kind of way.
Paul refused to put on his nametag, refused to sit at the honored 25th year table and refused to even speak to any of his classmates. I kind of figured there'd be nobody from my class - us folks from the 90's just don't get into this kind of scene I guess. Well, except for me and I'm a bit of a nerd ya know. So we visited with Pat, a guy that my mom graduated with and Tony, a guy that graduated 2 years before them. Pat eventually talked Paul into wearing his nametag and told us to pick out some seats. Of course, we picked out the table furthest away from everything including the food, oxygen and the ability to hear what was being said, but that's okay, Paul was far away from The Jerk.
Finally my mother arrived and Paul relaxed a bit. If anyone can make a situation more fun, it's my mom. She can relax a homophobe before a prostate exam (Not that she's actually that hands on with her relaxing ways....oh anyway). Mom flitted about the room not unlike the proverbial ferret on crack, visiting with scads of people young and old. She knows everyone on the planet, I swear. My Uncle the Politician and his lovely wife, my Aunt Janet, arrived and took seats with us back on the moon's surface where the oxygen was scarce, but the company was great. Aunt Janet said, "Hey, you're here! Last I read, Paul, you weren't coming." I forgot she reads my blog. Every time a person from the class of '81 would come in I'd point them out to my husband and he'd shrug and grunt. He never moved from his seat. I started to whip out some wisdom wisdom and tell him, "If you go somewhere thinking you'll have a rotten time, chances are you will", but decided that I'd keep my mouth shut and stay cheery. After all, he had said, "Bite me. I ain't goin'," before. Aunt Janet was right - at least he was there.
Dinner was delightful - big ol' chicken leg/thighs smoked to yummy perfection, tater salad, (No actual Taters were harmed in the making of the salad. I checked.) baked beans, hot rolls and cobbler. Mom and Pat had gotten their plates and were down at the end of the line kind of huddled together. I sidled up to them and said, "What are you two doin'?" and Pat nonchalantly said, "Oh, just rubbing some sauce on your mom's thigh." AGH!! I squealed something about needing to bleach my eyes and my brain and went back to the table where my non-eating husband was sitting. My not-eating husband? you ask - Oh, he had eaten pizza here at home before we left. And had failed to tell me that he wouldn't be partaking until after I had paid his $12. Grr.
After dinner we sang the school song. Thanks to Cap'n Neurotic's mom, I know every word to the school song still to this day and will know it until I die. Although I only got a 98 on the test because I forgot the RAH RAH! at the end. Dang those RAH RAH's. I don't forget 'em now, by cracky, though. Forever will the RAH RAH's live.
Then came the roll call - 100-some-odd old dudes with a handful of Baby Boomers and a GenXer (Or is it GenY? I lose track) thrown in for good measure, standing and saying their names and where they were from. Some would give a brief (or not so brief) life story, some just blurted out their name and the wrong hometown, like I did. I always say I'm from Fairland because that's where my kids go to school, even though we have a Miami address. It's just something I do. I sat down and My Uncle the Politician, Aunt Janet and Mom were all staring at me. Finally Mom said, "Fairland? You're not from Fairland!" Agh. When it came time for Paul's class to be recognized, the lot of us moon-dwellers cajoled him into going up front. Okay, so it was mainly me because I heard the honored classes got mugs. I wanted a mug! I thought, how much more school-spirited could I be but to drink my morning coffee from a WHS mug? As he was walking up front, Mom leaned over and said, "How much you wanna bet he says he's from Miami?" Sure enough, he's from Miami, I'm from Fairland. How people will talk.
A lady stood up to sing a song and told us that while she was singing to think of all of the classmates we had lost through the years. Hoo boy, let's end this shindig on a happy note, why don't we? Yeesh. We've only lost one, so instead of getting bogged down into a saddened mess I instead took my butter knife and began sawing on my wrists, which in turn led Pat into pretending to stab himself in the throat and Tony attempted a gut wound. My Uncle the Politician had to maintain some decorum while we children amused ourselves, but I think he was slightly amused just the same. Or maybe he wasn't. A few members of the Class of 1976 had obviously received a phone call from a long-lost class member and proceded to pass the phone around the table during the whole program. I offered to stick that phone where the sun don't shine, but Mom gave me that classic "Shut your mouth or I'll put half-moon shaped marks on your wrists with my fingernails" and that made me quit with the threats. But it still added to the giggling hilarity back in the corner. Yes, we were juvenile, but the Lucky Turtle Casino was just mere yards from us and we all could feel it's unmistakable pull. I even suggested we all cut out early, but Aunt Janet said, "YOU'RE the one who wanted this! You're staying!" She was right. So I just sat there and continued to make fun of people.
I wonder if I'll ever grow up.
Nah. I doubt it.
But I'll drink my coffee out of my husband's WHS mug and giggle about Tony doing the whole "Parkay" bit with the butter tub and remember fondly the 2006 WHS Alumni Banquet. I'll shout my RAH RAH's when the school song is over and I'll always have an unexplainable urge to wear black and white on Fridays.
March Wyandotte High with our colors on high
I would've been the youngest person there had it not been for the 2003 graduate who was working in the kitchen.
Yes, the 33 year old, grayer than her 43 year old husband, overweight mother of three was the next-to-the-youngest person at an all-school reunion banquet.
Oh man, Paul did NOT want to go, as I chronicled here, but I badgered the poor man into giving in. I harped, nagged, offered, bribed and yes, flat-out whined at him until he had no choice but to agree to attend with me. And even though he had said repeatedly that he didn't want to see any of his old classmates, I thought for sure he'd see someone from 1981 that caused a flood of memories to come a'rushin' back and he'd drag me to a bar afterwards with the whole crew so we could relive his glory days together.
We got there around 5:30 and the one guy that he'd said repeatedly that he hated the most and he hoped wasn't going to be there was just getting out of his truck. Oy. I saw my husband bristle and thought, "Well, that was a fun drive to Wyandotte. Guess we'll be going now," but instead me mumbled something about "Ihatethat[insert expletives here]", but still we were moving toward the door. I was still hopeful. And I could see where he'd have had issues with this guy that he really hated - he just really acted like a jerk. He exhaled jerk-ness and gave off bad vibes. And he was a lot shorter than he looked in the yearbook. I found that kind of funny. In a twisted kind of way.
Paul refused to put on his nametag, refused to sit at the honored 25th year table and refused to even speak to any of his classmates. I kind of figured there'd be nobody from my class - us folks from the 90's just don't get into this kind of scene I guess. Well, except for me and I'm a bit of a nerd ya know. So we visited with Pat, a guy that my mom graduated with and Tony, a guy that graduated 2 years before them. Pat eventually talked Paul into wearing his nametag and told us to pick out some seats. Of course, we picked out the table furthest away from everything including the food, oxygen and the ability to hear what was being said, but that's okay, Paul was far away from The Jerk.
Finally my mother arrived and Paul relaxed a bit. If anyone can make a situation more fun, it's my mom. She can relax a homophobe before a prostate exam (Not that she's actually that hands on with her relaxing ways....oh anyway). Mom flitted about the room not unlike the proverbial ferret on crack, visiting with scads of people young and old. She knows everyone on the planet, I swear. My Uncle the Politician and his lovely wife, my Aunt Janet, arrived and took seats with us back on the moon's surface where the oxygen was scarce, but the company was great. Aunt Janet said, "Hey, you're here! Last I read, Paul, you weren't coming." I forgot she reads my blog. Every time a person from the class of '81 would come in I'd point them out to my husband and he'd shrug and grunt. He never moved from his seat. I started to whip out some wisdom wisdom and tell him, "If you go somewhere thinking you'll have a rotten time, chances are you will", but decided that I'd keep my mouth shut and stay cheery. After all, he had said, "Bite me. I ain't goin'," before. Aunt Janet was right - at least he was there.
Dinner was delightful - big ol' chicken leg/thighs smoked to yummy perfection, tater salad, (No actual Taters were harmed in the making of the salad. I checked.) baked beans, hot rolls and cobbler. Mom and Pat had gotten their plates and were down at the end of the line kind of huddled together. I sidled up to them and said, "What are you two doin'?" and Pat nonchalantly said, "Oh, just rubbing some sauce on your mom's thigh." AGH!! I squealed something about needing to bleach my eyes and my brain and went back to the table where my non-eating husband was sitting. My not-eating husband? you ask - Oh, he had eaten pizza here at home before we left. And had failed to tell me that he wouldn't be partaking until after I had paid his $12. Grr.
After dinner we sang the school song. Thanks to Cap'n Neurotic's mom, I know every word to the school song still to this day and will know it until I die. Although I only got a 98 on the test because I forgot the RAH RAH! at the end. Dang those RAH RAH's. I don't forget 'em now, by cracky, though. Forever will the RAH RAH's live.
Then came the roll call - 100-some-odd old dudes with a handful of Baby Boomers and a GenXer (Or is it GenY? I lose track) thrown in for good measure, standing and saying their names and where they were from. Some would give a brief (or not so brief) life story, some just blurted out their name and the wrong hometown, like I did. I always say I'm from Fairland because that's where my kids go to school, even though we have a Miami address. It's just something I do. I sat down and My Uncle the Politician, Aunt Janet and Mom were all staring at me. Finally Mom said, "Fairland? You're not from Fairland!" Agh. When it came time for Paul's class to be recognized, the lot of us moon-dwellers cajoled him into going up front. Okay, so it was mainly me because I heard the honored classes got mugs. I wanted a mug! I thought, how much more school-spirited could I be but to drink my morning coffee from a WHS mug? As he was walking up front, Mom leaned over and said, "How much you wanna bet he says he's from Miami?" Sure enough, he's from Miami, I'm from Fairland. How people will talk.
A lady stood up to sing a song and told us that while she was singing to think of all of the classmates we had lost through the years. Hoo boy, let's end this shindig on a happy note, why don't we? Yeesh. We've only lost one, so instead of getting bogged down into a saddened mess I instead took my butter knife and began sawing on my wrists, which in turn led Pat into pretending to stab himself in the throat and Tony attempted a gut wound. My Uncle the Politician had to maintain some decorum while we children amused ourselves, but I think he was slightly amused just the same. Or maybe he wasn't. A few members of the Class of 1976 had obviously received a phone call from a long-lost class member and proceded to pass the phone around the table during the whole program. I offered to stick that phone where the sun don't shine, but Mom gave me that classic "Shut your mouth or I'll put half-moon shaped marks on your wrists with my fingernails" and that made me quit with the threats. But it still added to the giggling hilarity back in the corner. Yes, we were juvenile, but the Lucky Turtle Casino was just mere yards from us and we all could feel it's unmistakable pull. I even suggested we all cut out early, but Aunt Janet said, "YOU'RE the one who wanted this! You're staying!" She was right. So I just sat there and continued to make fun of people.
I wonder if I'll ever grow up.
Nah. I doubt it.
But I'll drink my coffee out of my husband's WHS mug and giggle about Tony doing the whole "Parkay" bit with the butter tub and remember fondly the 2006 WHS Alumni Banquet. I'll shout my RAH RAH's when the school song is over and I'll always have an unexplainable urge to wear black and white on Fridays.
March Wyandotte High with our colors on high
and shout loudly for dear old school we love so well
Sing to our dear banner of black and white
so we will be true as we march onward and yell,
THE BEARS WILL FIGHT!
THE BEARS WILL FIGHT!
THE BEARS WILL FIGHT, FIGHT, FIGHT, FIGHT, FIGHT, FIGHT, FIGHT!"
"THE BEARS WILL FIGHT!
"THE BEARS WILL FIGHT!
"THE BEARS WILL FIGHT, FIGHT, FIGHT, FIGHT, FIGHT, FIGHT, FIGHT"
Here's to the school that we love best of all.
We march with our colors of black and white on high.
Loyal and true we will come to her call
And prove that her spirit and pep will never die!
RAH RAH!
10 comments:
I have never been to a high school reunion. Something about working in one every freakin' day stifles the urge. My HH goes to his, but then, we went to different schools. He graduated from the school where I teach. I have no desire to accompany him and mingle with the board members.
Oh boy. I'm going to Miami, I'm going to the fair...
I liked the description of the prick who pisses off Mr. Diva. And your aunt rubbing sauce on DivaMom's thigh.
I envy your Lucky Turtle. We have to drive 90 minutes to a casino. But I DID win $20 on a scratch-off ticket this morning. I have $54 worth of winners to cash in. It would be more fun to take it to a casino.
Wow!!! I can't believe you wanted to go to an alumni banquet. Been there, moved on. It has been 40 years since I graduated and I have taken in at least 5 of these affairs. Yes, they are all the same. There was no Lucky Turtle or any other kind of animal back then. I believe my hubby only went to 2, his and mine. I have been lucky enough to get to be on the scholarship committee many times. If you are interested, I can get you the gig. I have been reading your blogs and I must say I'm impressed with your grammar. Some of the language is down right too colorful for me but I do enjoy your ramblings. Thanks for using those writing skills. Cap'n Neurotic's Mom
Oops. I forgot to tell you how impressed I am that you have remembered the words to the School Song. Now they just yell RAH at the end but I still only give full credit if they have a Rah! Rah! I continue my quest to torture and bring nightmares to students. Cap'n Neurotic's Mom again
Hi Diva,
Quote "She can relax a homophobe before a prostate exam" this is one of the funniest things I have ever read, I'm still laughing now.
As for school reunions, my first high school closed down, so hopefully nothing will ever be done to remember that hell hole. As for my second high school, I only went there for a year, but I still go back and visit, and even do some teaching there at times.
Oh and if you want to slash your wrists, a butter knife is the wrong way to go. In fact, it is a very hard thing to do at all, even with a scalpel. I learnt from experience, soI thought I would save you the trouble.
HooRoo
Rebecca
Oh my God, just hearing the words "WHS Alumni Banquet" makes me want to open my veins. What did your husband do that was so bad that you would do that to him? Wasn't 13 years enough! Why would you go back? Is it something akin to Holocaust survivors returning to Auschwitz 50 years later? I don't get it.
You know, Cap'n Neurotic's Mom, you once said you didn't care what words we used, we could use a four letter word starting with F to substitute for sex, just DON'T USE THE LORD'S NAME IN VAIN! I believe Diva has kept to your rules. She remains as colorful as ever.
I must not have ever passed that school song test because I never could remember the whole thing. Now, I can still play that sucker on my clarinet with no sheet music. In my sleep, probably. Any time it's sang I try to sing along but it goes something like this:
March Wyandotte High with our colors on high. Na na na na na dear old school we love so well. Na na na na black and white.
And so on and so forth.
RAH RAH!
Hillbilly Mom, I have attended two class reunions and had every intention of doing another one this year, but this working at home thing is consuming my life, so I kind of polled a few classmates and we decided that we still don't like each other all that much and we'll just wait another 5 years until the 20th and see how we feel then.
The ones I graduated with and still love dearly I see and communicate with. Everyone else...yeah, I can wait 5 years.
Girl, I'm telling you, if you'd ever drag yourself out of hiding there in them Missouri hills and wander down this way I could take you on a casino tour that would BLOW YOUR MIND. But you continue to hide from me...you silly wabbit.
Cap'n Neurotic's Mom, I fully expected to see you there and was gravely disappointed that you weren't!! I just knew you'd be there. The last one I attended was the year I graduated and I was the recipient of the scholarship myself. The scholarship recipient didn't even show up this year. My how times have changed.
They nominated Trishia M. to take your place on the scholarship committee, btw. I don't know any of the kids from Wyandotte anymore, so I'm not sure I'd be any good at giving out scholarships. My attention all seems to lie in Fairland these days, something I never thought would happen, lol.
Thank you for commenting on my grammar - I do try! In fact, when I correct my husband's grammar he usually calls me by your name. LOL And yes, as Stacie pointed out, while I do cuss like a sailor, I never take the Lord's name in vain - I draw the line there!
Thanks for commenting! Do so more often - I enjoyed it!
Cedric, I knew if anyone got the creepy crawlies over a reunion it would be you!
Stacie, you know, I like that you called me "colorful". I think.
One of the guys we sat with the other night said he didn't know a flippin' word to that song, but if you gave him a trumpet he could probably have belted it out. Funny how that stuff sticks with us. I still remember all of the
whistle commands for parade marching. How nerdy is that?
Eagles, you mighty Eagles, stand up and fight you mighty Eagles....I can go on and on, I know every word! I may even post it for all of Blogdom to hum throughout the day. Although why would an Eagles stand up and fight, couldn't they swoop and fight or soar and fight??????
Oh, I still remember those whistle commands, too!
Twee-ooo-eeet! Tweet! Tweet! Tweet! Tweet!
I think mom's tolerance for "colorful" language has dwindled as the popularity of said language has risen; I still subscribe to the "as long as it's not the Lord's name, we're jake" philosophy.
As for class reunions, I'm glad I went to mine, since I got to reconnect with a couple of folks I'd lost touch with over the years; I do wish we'd had more time and/or a different setting, since I sort of wound up in the conversational dead zone of my table, with conversations about car repair to one side of me and conversations about huntin' & fishin' to the other.
Y'know, Stacie, that's exactly the same whistle command that popped into my head when Diva mentioned them. Spooky.
I also still get those danged drum cadences stuck in my head from time to time.
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