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Lou Gehrig died on June 2, 1941, at the age of 37.
One of the most disorienting but fascinating things about getting older
is watching people you’ve known since childhood turn into the exact same
adults we used to be both amused by and terrified of as kids. When
you’re young, adults seem impossibly old, and even though we totally
think they’re wrong and stupid about everything, you can’t help but
think, just by virtue of being older, they possess some sort of wisdom
or life lesson simply by living longer than you have. You grow up and
realize this is wrong, of course, but kids don’t know that. So it never
fails to bewilder me to look at people I’ve known for 20 or more and
realize that not only are they not that earnest high school kid or that
searching college student or hungry twentysomething anymore ... they’re
just another dumb adult now like the rest of them. We all turn out a lot
bit more ordinary than we thought.
Later this evening, I will attended the reunion for the 1993 graduating class of Mattoon High School. I haven’t made it back since the 10-year reunion, which — thanks to an ironic and unexpectedly successful run for class president that apparently is an office with the tenure of a Supreme Court justice, or a Pope — I had to organize despite living in New York City at the time while 90 percent of my class was still in Mattoon. It was a miserable experience, not because of the reunion itself, but because corralling 200 classmates from 1,200 miles away in the days before Facebook was impossible and frustrating and unrewarding in every possible way. I vowed I wouldn’t be planning any others, class president or not, and I haven’t. I would have gone to the later ones, planned by others, but the schedules haven’t worked out, or I couldn’t get back, or all the sorts of reasons that life conjures up for you. But I am back for this one.
back for a reunion brings back all sorts of complicated memories for a
lot of people, apparently, but I’ll confess I am not one of them. I have
been surprised by the number of friends of mine who have flat-out
refused to even consider going to the reunion. One friend
responded, when asked if he were going, flatly “F—k no.” One friend
said she was haunted by even the thought of the reunion, that
she had nightmares in the days after it was brought up. Another said “I
haven’t seen those people in 25 years and I do not miss them.”
These sound like the memories of people who were traumatized in high school, but — allotting for the fact that I cannot know every other person’s every single experience — I was around all these people in high school and if they were constantly getting bullied and picked on and beaten up, to the point that they’re still terrorized by it today, I must have missed it. I suspect they weren’t, or at least they didn’t have to deal with any more high-school related anxiety than anybody else has to deal with. I have some friends who did have to deal with some of that, yet they still come to the reunion and are affable and cheerful about it. High school’s hard. But what happens after that is much more difficult.
My hypothesis is that it’s the specter of seeing old high school acquaintances that affect us rather than actually doing it. That’s to say: I think we’re more concerned by how we’ll feel about ourselves at a reunion than what other people will think about us. The last time we saw most of these people, our lives spread out before us in infinite directions, full of endless possibility. We could be anything, or at least we thought we could be. Twenty-five years later, we are all weighed down by actual reality. I don’t think most people’s actual realities are all that terrible, but I bet they feel that way when you compare them to what they, or others, imagined they would be. You can be the best car salesman, or nurse, or postman, or lawyer, or whatever, but all it takes is one person at a reunion to say, when you tell them what you do, “Oh, I always thought you’d be a [insert something with more imagined glamour than whatever the actual job is]” and you’re off into Existential Crisis Land. Reunions can force us to reckon with what we and others thought we might be, and how it contrasts with how we are.
But they really don’t have to be that. They really can be a lot simpler. The most common thing people who don’t go to their reunions say, at least the less traumatized ones, are that a reunion is “not my scene.” I am not sure I have ever met the sort of person whose reunion is their scene; part of the point of a reunion, in fact, is that you are getting away from your usual scene. (If it were your usual scene, there’d be no need to reunite. You’d already be there.) I think this kneejerk cliche means, essentially, “I don’t want to be the type of person who wants to care about a reunion.” But this gives a reunion too much power. It is simply that: A reunion. A way to see people you haven’t seen in a long time. There is no need to make it more than that.
One friend who lives nearby and knew I was back for the reunion texted me last night and asked if I wanted t o meet up this weekend at some point. “I’m not going to the reunion, it’s not my thing, but I’d be happy to see you,” he said. I’d be happy to see him too. It would be happy, lo, to reunite with him. He is curious to see how someone he hasn’t seen in 15 years is doing. But he doesn’t want to go to the reunion. Not his thing. There are many people I am curious to see whom I have not seen in many, many years. Some of them I’ll be happy t o see; some of them surely I won’t. But I am curious. These are people with whom I have a unique shared experience. How did they do when blasted with the real world that was unknowingly awaiting us all? How’d they turn out? Are they OK? Who have I forgotten? What have I forgotten about them? We went through this together, a long time ago. We’re all still here. That seems worthy of revisiting, at least for one night. I’m glad I’m here. It’s not a massive deal. I don’t think it’s a referendum on my life or anybody else’s. It’s just a chance to see some people I don’t get to see anymore. I only wish I could see more of them.
Here is a numerical breakdown of all the things I wrote this week, in order of what I believe to be their quality. (This is an attempt to have an objective look at the value of my work in a way that I suspect will be difficult to sustain.)
1. Roger Goodell Is the Prototypical Trump Enabler, New York Magazine. I’ve started a weekly column for New York. I’m very excited. I have David Wallace-Wells, I have broad latitude in what to cover and they’ll let me write super long if I have to. I’ll be on Tuesdays because Frank Rich and Andrew Sullivan have of the other days covered. This will be fun. The first one was about Trump, inevitably.
2. The Return of the 30-30 Season, MLB.com. I had not realized it had been five years since anyone (Trout, of course) had put together a 30-30 year. There will be at least one, probably two, maybe more this year.
3. Why the NBA Finals Have More Rematches Than the World Series, MLB.com. It has been 40 years since the last one!
4. Debate Club: Top Superhero Spoofs, SYFY Wire. It was more difficult to come with these than I had thought it would be.
5. The Thirty: The Lowest-Drafted Player on Every MLB Team, MLB.com. There’s hope, kids!
THE WILL LEITCH SHOW
This week’s guest was Sydelle Noel, star of Netflix’s “G.L.O.W.” and, of course, Black Panther. She was also a track star at UGA. She was super awesome. You can watch the show on Amazon or on SI TV.
Grierson & Leitch, talking “Solo: A Star Wars Story” and “The Prestige.”
Seeing Red, Bernie Miklasz and I talked before that insane game on Thursday night. Which I was at! With the Leitches!
Waitin’ Since Last Saturday, new show this week! Baseball! Softball! Basketball! Football! Sports!
If you have an Amazon Alexa — and my family doesn’t, for obvious reasons — you can hear a special show Grierson and I are doing weekly solely for the Amazon Alexa. Read about it here. If you have one, will you try it out and see if it works? I have no idea how to work that weird device.
My wife’s birthday party was such an overwhelming success that we’re still all sort of walking around in a daze a week later. Good times were had by all humans. She is a lot more attractive than I am.
Have a great weekend, all.