Facebook Reunions

I wonder sometimes why I'm reluctant to go to our class reunions.  After all, I am curious about what my friends and former classmates are doing.  It's natural, I suppose, to want to know how people turned out, beyond the blurbs that are published in our alumni magazine.  

In high school, I used to insist I'd never go to a reunion.  I expected that I'd keep in touch with my real friends.  Connecting as adults with people I'd never hung out with in high school didn't make any sense to me.  But what ended up happening was that, like lots of people, I gradually lost contact with my friends.  

I began to wonder what my old friends were doing.  Going to a reunion began to make more sense.  But....  There'd be other people there.  The ones who I always felt judged me.  And why face that again?  Judging me for my hair, my clothes, my size?  

Enter facebook.  Old classmates (from grade school even!) have found me on facebook.  Which is not a bad substitute for a reunion.  They only see the version of me I want them to see.  My good hair photos.  My successes at work.  It's the version of me I'd want them to see if I went to a reunion.  

I know that this keeps everyone at arm's length.  I've never been to a reunion, but I'm guessing it's a lot like my facebook reunions.  Step one: the "you look great!" compliments; Step two: the brief flurry of "what have you been up to?" messages; Step three: the silence.  If it were a real reunion, one of us would realize we needed to refill our glass, or see someone across the room we needed to talk to.  

If I don't go to a reunion, they'll never see the version of me that's just like Hjalmar, in borrowed dinner clothes, feeling out of place and uncomfortable.  

Hjalmar's had the worst possible reunion.  He can handle feeling out of place.  He can deal with the fact that he's got unsophisticated tastes.  He can try to enjoy himself, until his ex-con dad shows up, and like Peter, he denies knowing his own father in front of the party guests.  So no, he doesn't want to recite any poetry, thank you.  It's time to go home.  

Reading "The Wild Duck" again, I wonder if reuniting with old friends comes with a price.  

You're reminded of who you used to be.