There were 273 of us. It was 1994, and there were 273 of us wearing the same caps and gowns, sitting in the same folding chairs on the same green grass under a blue sky in the same beloved football stadium. There were 273 of us with our own unique talents and ambitious dreams, our own secret fears and diverse perceptions of what our high school experience had been. We were an eclectic bunch, divided by interests and abilities and circumstances.

But for a sunny day in June of 1994, we were one.

When a classmate asked me to write something in honor of our 25th class reunion (which is impossible, frankly, because we can’t be old enough for this), I struggled to find the words to share. How do you speak on behalf of 273 people, many of whom you haven’t seen for, well, 25 years? How do you speak on behalf of the ones whom we’ve lost? What do you say to the classmates whom you never personally knew? To the classmates who are bursting with excitement to reconnect this summer? To the classmates who have never considered attending a reunion at all? I hoped that the words would come. So I waited. And they finally did.

Here is what I want to say to you, my classmate from MHS: You aren’t the same person you were in 1994.

I realize this isn’t an earth shattering revelation if you are the slightest bit self-aware, but in a world that teaches us that living equals running at full speed from sun up ‘til sun down, I’m asking you to slow down and reflect for just a minute.  Who were you when you stepped onto that football field twenty-five years ago? And who are you when you look into the mirror today?

I’m going to guess that you are wiser. I’m going to guess that you are much more aware of the world beyond 208 Davis Avenue. I’m going to guess that you are more knowledgeable, more open minded, more compassionate, and maybe even (a little) more mature. You are, in many ways, an entirely different version of yourself.

And that is fascinating. And also really, really cool.

Let me give you an example.

In 1994, I was voted “Most Studious” by my classmates. (Yeah, you voted on that, remember?) Those votes were based on my grades and… well… really, that’s probably all. Maybe my work ethic was noticed by a few people, but mostly my grades sealed the deal. At the time, it was affirming; I mean, I did spend a lot of time studying. But as time has passed and I have occasionally remembered that recognition, it sometimes feels like a sharp stick poking at my insecurities. In 1994, as teenagers escaping the confines of high school, there was an assumption that being “studious” would lead to being “successful.” And success in high school meant something REALLY BIG AND WONDERFULLY EXCITING. Success was glittery and attention grabbing. It was flashing lights. It was prestigious colleges. It was big checks and huge houses. It was power, status, and control, the kinds of things that make other people jealous.

And I’m here to tell you that I’ve achieved exactly none of those things. Not one of them.

To my classmates in 1994, those teenagers sitting in that football stadium, that would probably mean that I am dreadfully unsuccessful.

Except that my idea of what “successful” means has changed dramatically with 25 years of life under my belt. And I’m guessing yours has, as well.

Because you aren’t the same person you were in 1994.

So how has my perspective of success transformed?  If you work hard to provide for your needs and the needs of your family, you are successful, in my book. If you sacrifice your time, energy, and resources to somehow serve others within your community, that is success, for sure. If you are trusted and respected by the people who know you  – that is success! And if you are striving every day to overcome the mistakes that you made in the past and create a better life – you are truly SUCCESSFUL, my friend.

Success doesn’t mean the same thing to me that it did in 1994. Those grades were important, but they weren’t quite as important as I thought they were at the time. (But let’s not tell my kids that I said this until after they graduate, okay? What is said at the 25 year reunion stays at the 25 year reunion…)

When we were in high school and our circumstances seemed overwhelming, our problems often sounded something like this:

• Should I try to meet curfew, drive around a while longer, or see who’s parked at
Burger King?
• What color spray paint would really pop on the rock?
• Who am I asking to Homecoming, and how am I going to pay for the tickets?
• If I get a job, can I still play sports and finish my math homework for Mr. Miller? And if
I can’t, would I rather have money or repeat math class?
• If I can’t balance the equations on Mr. Luthy’s chemistry test tomorrow, will there be
trouble in River City?
• How fast am I going to drive back to school to avoid a tardy after open lunch?
• What’s the recipe for the glue that holds the toilet paper in the chicken wire at float
building?
• Garth Brooks or Nirvana?

But in 2019, life looks a little different for most of us. Some of us faced some seriously tough times in high school; let’s acknowledge that up front. But MOST of us have experienced so much more than we could have possibly imagined since we wore those caps and gowns 25 years ago. There have been spectacular moments. The highs have been higher than we ever dreamed. And the lows… Well, those have been brutal in ways that most of us couldn’t have predicted at 17 or 18 years old.

When you sat in study hall with Ms. Livingston and daydreamed about the future instead of studying, you couldn’t have known if you would meet your soul mate in college or marry your high school sweetheart or decide to live the single life or survive a difficult divorce or elope to Las Vegas. When your mind drifted between CPR drills with Mrs. Meeks or Mr. Burke, you had no idea if you would struggle to start a family or adopt your babies or choose not to have children or raise a bigger family than you ever expected. When your mind wandered during gym with Mr. and Mrs. Pape, you couldn’t have predicted if you would experience the heartbreaking loss of a sibling or a child or a parent or a spouse before our 25th reunion. When you dressed in a sparkly prom dress or a sharp tuxedo, you had no clue if you would move to five different states, commit to a life in the military, open your own business, struggle to pay the bills, change careers after 40, follow your creative passions, travel the world, fight depression or anxiety, care for an ailing parent, watch a newborn enter the world, or hear a frightening diagnosis. You didn’t know if your own kids would wear a Marietta Tigers jersey or if your teenagers would bleed something other than orange and black.

Collectively, so many things have happened to bring us joy, and so many things have happened to bring us pain, and now, after 25 more years of being human, we have so much more in common – we are so much more alike – than we were when we were handed those diplomas in 1994.

When reunions approach, there are some common refrains among people who aren’t quite sure about revisiting the past.

“I don’t keep in touch with anyone from high school anyway.”
“I haven’t accomplished as much as I thought I would by now.”
“High school wasn’t the best time for me. Why would I go back?”
“People will expect me to be something that I’m not.”
“I have a lot of regrets from back then.”
“So much has happened. Those people wouldn’t understand.”
“I’m not the same person that I was in 1994.”

You know… You’re right about the last one.

You aren’t the same person, and neither is anybody else.

The cliques, the ridiculous ways we divided ourselves up to sooth our insecurities, well, that’s so 1994.

In 2019, we are a diverse group of people with a deeper, richer understanding of who we are and what it means to be a human. We are a group of people with something else in common, too: We all searched for our identities in the same halls in the same upside down high school in the same wooded ravine in the same small town that has always taken pride in its roots. We all walked the same brick streets. We all skipped rocks into the same two rivers. And even though we have ended up all over the world, we all share memories of one special place that nourished our angst-ridden teenage souls.

Hail our Alma Mater.

Marietta High.

If you are an MHS classmate (or anyone else) who is visiting the blog for the first time, WELCOME! Please check out old posts, find Still Chasing Fireflies on Facebook, and sign up on this page to receive emails of new posts.  Thank you so much for reconnecting!  HUGE THANKS to Missy Pracht for asking me to write something and to MHS alum Melinda Patterson Crone for sharing her beautiful photograph!

~Mary Ann