Etna High School Reunion

Here I am at my high school reunion last week.I really did have a great time, but at times, that expression summed up how I felt. Of course, everyone feels a little strange about going to their high school reunion. Will I recognize everyone? Have I accomplished anything since then? Am I going to get gay bashed?

When I moved to Etna when I was in third grade, I was an outsider, a flatlander, a city slicker. After 10 years in the town, I ultimately felt at home. But now, 20 years later, I realize only about a quarter of my life was spent there. I am again an outsider, a flatlander and a city slicker. Oh, and a homo. That too.

But many in that photo are in the same boat--not fitting in anymore, that is (not the homo part). Many of us moved out and into the big city. Kathi's now in Dallas. Jeff's in Alameda. Suzanne is in San Francisco. Jarrod's in Austin. Frankie's in Brooklyn, for Pete's sake. Others still live in the valley or close to it, which meant that collectively, we were again a group of insiders and outsiders.

Conversations focused on life in the city versus in the country. I'm sure my classmate, Jon, has as hard a time understanding why I'd choose to live among all this Bay Area traffic as I have understanding how he can live in the same house he grew up in.

I trip to realize that some of my classmates now have grown children. To see people who used to chuck spit wads on the ceiling in geometry class express paternal instincts is just kooky. I recognized a few of the kids before I recognized my classmates. To me, Bryan's boy looks more like Bryan than Bryan.

I let it spill that I've been doing stand-up comedy, so the organizers cajoled me into doing a little comedy set after dinner. I managed to find a few minutes worth of clean material, but it still managed to be very gay material.

In an area that looks a lot like the fields where Matthew Shepherd was murdered, this could have been scary. A gay comedy show in Etna is as out of place as a strip show at the Vatican. But, I had to take Kathy Griffin's advice--never refuse a gig. Though I'm sure she'd have refused this one had she been asked.

I'm sure I made a few people squirm, but for the most part, the Etna crowd seemed OK with it--better than some of the open mike crowds here in the Bay Area, actually. I even poked fun at country music. A few guys surprised me with compliments. "Nice jokes, Marty!" I wasn't expecting a lot of hugs and kisses from these guys, but I do want to believe that ultimately, the guys I played dodge ball with are generally good people who I don't need to fear. Yes, a couple of chairs were thrown and a beer bottle smashed, but none of that was directed at me.

This is a class that chose Bon Jovi's "Never Say Goodbye" as class song, barely beating out the Beastie Boys "You've Got to Fight for your Right to Party." Some of us in the class were rowdy--some of us still are, even after most of our rowdy friends have rowdied on down. I used to think my classmates' obsession with drunkenness was a result of the prohibition on underage drinking and that they'd all grow out of it. But, apparently, getting drunk is still quite enjoyable for many of my classmates.

At the end of the weekend, I left with a pocket full of email addresses, some rekindled memories and a feeling that I can and should make an effort to keep my childhood friendships alive. Never say goodbye.