A Chance to Heal

On Sept. 29, I fly to Albany, NY, to attend the 30th HS class reunion of a place I left after 8th grade. I am very excited that my former best friend Terry is going to attend since I'm attending. We haven't seen each other for 30 years. I am also excited to spend some time with Laura, rare & precious since we rediscovered one another a few years ago.

I think parents sometimes underestimate what it is like for a teenager to be yanked from a familiar place and moved elsewhere. Face it, teenagers are full of angst when there is not much evidence to parents that this state is warranted. At the very time teens are trying to establish a stronger sense of self, break some ties to the parental units, feel pressure to decide the post-HS path, etc., to lose everything that is familiar, well, for me, it was crushing.

It didn't help that I went from being able to walk to school, walk to my friends', walk to MickeyD's, walk to the liquor store where old men took our dollars and returned with blackberry brandy to a 50-minute bus ride to school, a 1.5 mile bike ride to my closest friend's, a 35 minute ride to any Mickey D's, and no liquor stores in sight.

In retrospect, it may have saved my life. In NY I didn't do drugs, but started drinking when I was 11. I hung out with many who did do drugs. We're talking the late 60's early 70's, man. I was in a rock band. I dropped out of Girl Scouts. I was in love with the boy down the street, someone who quite predictably did not live to see 40.

I hated junior high. I was frequently tormented and beat up, often in front of bus drivers, teachers, and other supposed guardians, AKA adults. I was beaten in my neighborhood by girls I thought were my friends. This included whipping me with thorn branches.

I was beaten on the activity bus by a group of girls with a vendetta, who had sisters in HS who joined in the attacks. I was beaten in gym class when these girls convinced the sub that we were taking BOXING that marking period. Actually, in this case I prevailed, landing a blow on my opponent's lip that split it wide open. My "victory" was short-lived, however, as the girls simply moved the next series of beatings from outside to the locker room.

My only escape was my crush on my 7th grade science teacher. Many years later, when I was in my mid 30's and he in his mid 40's, I stopped in to see him in his classroom. I wasn't sure he would even remember me. He not only remembered me, when I told him how much I appreciate how patient he was with me the teenager and how much it had helped me, he told me something stunning.

"What you didn't know at the time," he said, "was how much you helped me. I was going through a terrible divorce at the time and you really helped me."

WOW!

As I think about the reunion, I know who all these now 48-year old women are. Some of them may be at the reunion. In my childhood mind, at a minimum they will verbally assault me at the reunion. In my childhood mind, I will stand superior to all of them.

In reality, they probably aren't the reunion type.

In reality, I want to visit with those I have fond memories of. While most will talk about their HS days, where I have nothing to contribute, my memories of junior high, 6th grade, and elementary are probably clearer than theirs, and I know we have much to laugh about.

As for the "others," I now know you were probably beat at home. I only pray you did not perpetuate that cycle of violence with your own children.

I can now tell you, I forgive you.