Shiloh High Class of '92: Together Again

It's been 18 years since I graduated from Shiloh High School. I have assidiously avoided all attempts at class reunions, so it's ironic that I'm writing about a reunion for a class that isn't even mine. But I have fond memories of the Class of '92, and their 20th reunion is right around the corner - September 8 at the W Hotel in Midtown (to register, you can go here). I also happen to know some of the folks putting the shindig together, and I'd like to help them out with publicity.

Call it a return on their investment.

See, so many of the Class of '92 helped me make it through high school, it's nearly impossible to list them all by name. I know the stereotype is that upperclassmen don't usually associate with underclassmen, and in some cases that might be true. But the seniors that I knew in '92 were a different breed. Maybe it's because we were all in theater together; maybe it's because we were all, secretly, looking for someone else to help us feel like we belonged. Regardless of the reasons, we meshed together in a way that has stuck with me all these years.

The first name that comes to mind when I think of the Class of '92 is Brian Sullivan. If anyone from the '92 group is reading this, there might be a million ways to remember him, but I always default to Brian in a prosthetic nose and a big feathery hat, forcibly choking down a horrendous confection known as a macaroon. In case you don't recall, Brian was the lead in the SHS production of Cyrano de Bergerac, an ambitious presentation of the famed romance.

If you want to know terror, simply imagine a class full of teenage goobers wielding swords every day for three months.

Brian was one of my best friends that year, along with Rob Durham. They were different in so many ways, but alike in so many more. Rob was a poet then, and very encouraging of my writing ability (which, at the time, consisted of jotting horrible poems down on scrap paper). Rob was the first person to ever encourage me to keep a journal for my writing, and even gave me a really nice pen as a Christmas gift that year to keep me inspired.

Looking back on it, was an astounding thing: that twqo seniors, on their way to bigger and better, would take the time to hang out with an awkward and shy sophomore. I can't tell you the number of Friday nights I spent hanging with Brian and Rob at the Brass Rail billiards over on Satellite Boulevard. We would shoot pool and talk until my curfew (which was decidedly early than theirs) and they never once complained.

They helped me discover my wit. They nourished my creativity. They challenged me to try new things (not all of them necessarily good, but hey - that's high school).

To be honest, they made me feel human, instead of the less-than-human feeling to which so many succumb.

There were girls, too. Sarah Wardlaw. Jill Hall. Kris Vick. Yancey Mayfield. Sarah was awesome - she lived next door to a buddy of mine and drove a VW Jetta (navy blue, I think) and happened to be shorter than me. But she was a mad genius with her wit, and her viewpoints on life were fascinating. Jill was a theater player as well as an athlete and a scholar; a combo that is so much more impressive with age. To tread those precarious social lines as skillfully as Jill did, you had to have not only self-confidence but intelligence. Jill had both in spades.

Kris was a bright light in so many ways; I remember her most for being colorful and kooky in the best of ways, fresh air in an often stagnant place. And Yancey was my senior crush (and was for a lot of people), the first attractive girl that I ever liked who took notice of me. She was smart, and funny, and kind.

These women, collectively, balanced out the theater department, often waging war against some of us who too quickly espoused sexist rhetoric. At the time, it didn't conciously sink in, but as I look back, these women were the first to show me the beauty and power of equality within a culture. They changed my thinking on how the world could - and should - work.

Not that I could string that sentence together at the time. But hey, that's what hindsight is for, right?

I could go on. I think I will.

Kris Bayne - the most laid back man I knew. Kris was the first person to introduce me to jazz, and to the amazing ways that music could transform your mind and heart. For whatever reason, I have him inextricably linked to Kevin Bachman, whom I admired because he played the donkey in our production of A Midsummer Night's Dream and he wore the most ridiculous costume ever yet somehow brought dignity to his role. Kris and Kevin were joyous, edgy, and occasionally scared the crap out of me, and yet their kindness and tolerance of me were so crucial to my feeling at home within the theater.

There were still others. Matt Huff - the king of the drama department that year. Kristen Manion - sister to my friend, Scott, but I got to know her beyond that narrow window: a powerful dancer and beautiful soul. John Clendenen. Hormis Kalarickal. Liz Lott. Beth VanDusen. John Williams. Lori Edwards.

I would be remiss if I didn't mention Kristin Stuckey (voted Best Dressed), who is one of the people putting the Class of '92 reunion together and was the inspiration for this post. I didn't know Kristin very well - it took the advent of Facebook for that to happen - but I can tell you this: she has busted her tail to put together an amazing evening for her friends and classmates. Pre-reunion get-together; live band; DJ; an awesome evening at the W Midtown that begins with a cocktail gathering from 7-8 and hits full stride from 8-11 PM. Then, for those who find the moment too good to let go, an after party at Whiskey Park, located inside the hotel. Full details can be found here: Shiloh High Reunion '92.

That's the power of time, I think: to allow the present to blossom, to come to full bloom and show you all of the subtleties of texture and color that we so often miss in the moment. I loved these people dearly when I was in school, but for selfish reasons; perhaps that was all I was capable of, but now, I can see them for so much more and I am amazed at how deeply they affected me. The chance to get together with them and tell them face-to-face of their impact would be sweet.

Maybe it would be for you, too.

Don't let it pass you by. If I've learned anything since high school, it's that you have to take these opportunities when they come. You have to grab onto the people you love with courage and ferocity because the time you have is so short. Maybe you've avoided the reunion because you still see yourself as you were back then; maybe you've avoided it because those years were just too painful; or maybe, just maybe, it's because you're afraid that you passed through those halls without anyone really noticing you, without anyone really caring.

Chances are, half the people in this blog didn't know how they made my life better. But they do now, because I've had to the opportunity to tell them.

Saturday, September 8, may be your opportunity to discover just how much you meant to someone. Don't miss the chance.