Now, We're Just People

"Dear Mr. Vernon, we accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday in detention for whatever it was that we did wrong. What we did WAS wrong. But we think you're crazy to make us write this essay telling you who we think we are. What do you care? You see us as you want to see us... in the simplest terms and the most convenient definitions. You see us as a brain, an athlete, a basket case, a princess and a criminal. Correct? That's the way we saw each other at seven o'clock this morning. We were brainwashed." -Breakfast Club, 1985


I admit it...I resisted Facebook. It seemed like a time-waster for a generation younger than me, with less to do in their lives, who needed a way to keep in touch with the high school friends they left when they scattered to their respective colleges. A way for the 20-somethings to keep up with each other's every move in between group trips to the beaches, or quarter-bounce parties at someone's house. Yes, much as I had outgrown Cosmopolitan magazine, I was sure Facebook wasn't for me.

I don't remember the actual moment when I cracked. I just remember one day I didn't have a Facebook page, and the next day, I was responding to friend requests by the dozens. People were crawling out of the woodwork to be my friends. This, this was the life I had wanted all throughout my formative years. Soon, I was saying yes to long lost relatives, fellow ChefSuccessers, cousins, caver friends, and people from Jenison High School, Class of '88.

When I graduated from high school, I could name everyone. I knew them all. I certainly didn't hang out with everyone, but I could look at their picture in the yearbook and tell you who they were. I could also tell you what group they hung out with. There were the stoners, the brains, the jocks, the nerds, the EMO's-before-EMO's-were-cool, the outcasts, and the popular group. From where I stood, everyone fit somewhere.

Me? I fit with the brains. I wasn't the smartest in the class, but I held my own. While others were doing God-knows-what on Friday nights, we played Trivial Pursuit or Pictionary at someone's house, drinking soda, fully chaperoned by parents. We went on church retreats, participated in academic extra-curricular activities, and joined docile, well mannered sports like golf.

We didn't mingle with the jocks, we judged the stoners, we didn't understand the EMO's, we mocked the nerds. We emulated the populars, usually with little or no success.

We watched John Hughes movies like Sixteen Candles and waited for our favorite popular guy to have a revelation and show up in a cool car outside our door. We watched Pretty in Pink and knew we had our own Duckie that we would ditch for Blaine any day of the week. We watched Breakfast Club and picked sides with Judd Nelson, Michael Anthony Hall, Molly Ringwald, Emilio Estevez, or Ally Sheedy.

High school was tough. We all survived, graduated, and went our separate ways.

Fast-forward 20 years.

Thanks to Facebook, the Class of '88 has daily opportunities to keep up with each others lives. We know when they go running, when their kids have soccer practice, whether they like their jobs, how often they go to knitting club, what their book club is reading, or where in the world they are traveling or working.

We found out the jocks have mortgages, the stoners have great jobs, the EMO's are amazing artists, the nerds are running the world, and the outcasts found their place in the world. They love their kids, worry about the economy, buy groceries, and have made themselves a life.

To a certain extent, we're still the people we were in high school. But now we have a gift that we didn't possess then.

Acceptance.

Thanks to Facebook, the Class of '88 has many opportunities to hang out together. We go to movies, Mega-80's, local pubs, and anywhere else our whim takes us. People who didn't talk to each other in high school now sit side by side over a drink, telling what went on all those God-knows-what nights when I was yelling the capital of Bratislava for a blue chip. Hanging out, filling each other in on the stories of adventures we missed when we failed to recognize our commonalities during our young and stupid years. Making up for lost time.

I spent a good many hours this weekend hanging out with people from JHS Class of '88. They were not people I spent time with in high school.

But they're people I love to to spend time with now.

"Dear Mr. Vernon, we accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday in detention for whatever it was we did wrong. What we did WAS wrong, but we think you're crazy to make us write an essay telling you who we think we are. You see us as you want to see us... In the simplest terms and the most convenient definitions. But what we found out is that each one of us is ...
...a brain...
...and an athlete...
...and a basket case...
...a princess...
...and a criminal.

Does that answer your question?

Sincerely yours, the Breakfast Club."