Twenty Years Ago Today

I'm not much for growing older. I shave my head bald for the precise reason that I can't stand to pay any attention whatsoever to the recession and inevitable extinction of its hair follicles. And you won't ever hear the words "now I feel old" pronounced by me. I have rules against saying or even suggesting such things. To me the confession of such pitiful sentiment can only exacerbate the aging process. When young punks think it's the ultimate manifestation of hilarity to denounce me as being old when they learn my age, I always say the same thing:

You know how I got to be older than you? I was born first. Other than that... there's really nothing I could have done different.

Then I discreetly imagine what it would be like to step on their faces.

Nevertheless I'm going to transgress just this once and exclaim with righteous incredulity: I can't believe it was twenty years ago today that my high school class embarked on Madison Academy's inaugural History Trip!

It was early in the morning. Not even light out when my mother dropped me off at the campus as the bus was being loaded up with luggage. One suitcase for each boy and five for each girl. And then we were on our way with three of the faculty as our guides; the enigmatic principal Dean Hunt, the eccentric History Instructor Robert Dubose, and the perpetually blushing teacher of English, Debbie McBroom.

There are little things I remember like the sister SDA academy gymnasium in Virginia that we converted into one night's hostel. Seems like we slept in a church one night too. And someone made a joke about gayness and everyone cracked up, but just to be witty I said, "Hey, Charlie didn't laugh!" and everyone cracked up even more which made me feel good because, I reveal at last, I was hellbent on securing for myself as much attention as possible. But while Charlie was a good sport he did give me this look that seemed to say, "Umm... why did you have to pick on me?"

I remember on that trip Travis Claybrooks had this dramatic and animated way of saying "Yes!" any time he agreed seriously with anything being said and it fascinated me to the extent that I began to mimic him which he correctly accepted as flattery. Subsequently I continued to emulate him by developing enormous biceps and triceps and quadriceps and octaceps... okay... perhaps not literally.

I recall that Mr. Dubose impersonated a fiend from the depths of Dante's Inferno each morning with his relentless insistance that we could not accomplish anything if we did not first wake up and get moving.

I vaguely remember famous churches and a ship and a rock and a plantation and Salem where John Proctor refused to sign his name. There was Mark Twain's house and Harriet Beecher Stowe's house and the House of the Seven Gables and I remember jogging around Walden's Pond while listening to the Thompson Twins on my walkman.

There was a trail in the Blue Ridge Mountains clearly marked with blue flags so that no one could get lost or go in the wrong direction. And yet 14 hours later we arrived sporadically back at the bus in groups of two or three... some of us on foot... some of us on horseback... some of us by plane and train and lawn mower.

I remember the friendships. Pam and Deena were best friends and impressed all of us with their fashionable sunglasses designed it seems to convey how young and free and fun and spirited were their hearts. Dawn Farler and Latonia (the only Sophomore impetuous enough to accompany our class) were inseparable.

More than anything I remember how truly terrified I was of life. Pulverized with anxiety that someone might not like me. That I might say something stupid or look like a dork (which, upon photographically assisted reflection, it turns out I did).

I tell people I have a photogenic memory. I can't remember squat but if you were to frame my memory and mount it on the wall above your sofa it would be easy on the eye.

The truth is I am blessed with a pretty decent memory and this is my gift to my beloved classmates on this twentieth anniversary. While I assume I'm not the only one tempted to ponder how we're mostly closer to 40 now than we are to 20, I would have you consider how wonderfully blessed we are to have survived the brutal insecurities of youth. Hopefully we no longer face daily the life and death torture of finding our respective place in this world... The world is probably bigger than we realized then. We're probably smaller, but gradually we've learned that we needn't be in the spotlight quite so incessantly. That everything turns out pretty well usually should we let someone else shine for a moment here and there. Maybe popularity is a little overrated... indeed more of a burden or a curse than anything to be jealous of. Somehow, as we toured the historical landmarks of the eastern seaboard of America, we probably discovered paths and journeys far more ethereal and introspective in nature so that the conclusion of that educational trip may have represented a commencement of something profounder... the future. That and the necessity of remembering what we did on which days so we could fill up those damned journal assignments and turn them in.