I went back to my high school last night.
It was… weird. I went to the boys basketball game with my parents because it was the districts final and they’re undefeated. The game started at 7:00 p.m. and the doors opened at 5:30. The gym was completely full by 5:55. There I sat with my mom, dad, Knox and Lola, in the very front row, with more than an hour to wait. For a high school basketball game.
A few things happen when you return to your old stomping grounds.
You see your old favorite teachers and you want to go up to them and say “Thank you, you left an impact. And also how in the hell are you still putting up with awful teenagers?”
And then you see your not so favorite teachers and you want to go up to them and say nothing at all.
I take that back, I’d like to thank some of the douche teachers as well, because they’ve given me some good material for my standup. You know who you are.
And then there’s the former classmates. They’re all over but they’re not so easy to recognize. They disguise themselves as mothers and fathers and teachers. I saw a girl who graduated in my class sitting with her three children. Shit, I don’t want that. She probably thought the same thing about me while I sat in the front row in my ripped jeans fit for a teenager, eating a sucker with my head in the clouds.
And then there’s that one person that I don’t want to face at all. That girl who didn’t talk to anyone but complained when people said she was stuck up. She has platinum hair and orange skin. She’s that stupid girl we’d all like to punch and say get over yourself, idiot. She’s high school me.
I see her when the National Anthem starts and everyone stands. She looks like this.
I said that was my lucky black headband. I had to wear it for every game. But in all honesty I wore it because I was worried my forehead looked too big without it on. One time when I was playing a game against a team I don’t remember because it’s not that big of a deal (it was against Lincoln Northeast in December of 2003, the player was #14) a girl pushed me down in the back court and said “get down, horse face.”
And that was the birth of my fivehead insecurity. Which for the record I am totally okay with now. Big foreheads are a sign of power, just ask Tyra Banks.
Ten years ago at this time my basketball career ended. My team didn’t go to “state.” I cried the entire way home. My life was over. I wasn’t going to get to play at USC or play in the WNBA. Never mind that my entire high school basketball career was mediocre at best, I still had hopes if I could just get my team to state I had a pretty solid chance of getting to the WNBA.
Ten years later, I’m over it. It was for the best. It knocked me down a few pegs, which every teenager needs I think. I went to college without that high school arrogance and with my tail between my legs. I found there are bigger things in life. I also found alcohol.
Just kidding. A little.
My ten year high school reunion is this summer. I think I’ll sit this one out. Maybe I’ll make it to the twenty year.
*Please ignore spacing issues today. Ignore them, BECAUSE I CAN’T AND I’M GOING TO THROW MY COMPUTER OUT THE WINDOW.