Rock 'n' Roll High School It Wasn't, maybe easy listening or new country

So, my high school reunion’s coming up in May. Last time I went (1991) it was held in the Cow Palace. There was the typical roast beef and potatoes dinner you get in small towns at big gatherings. I saw maybe three people I knew. It was dull and depressing. What you have to understand is that my high school was so small, reunions are for all years of the whole school. So people who graduated in 1952 would be there. It’s pretty much the whole town.

Why do I feel compelled to go? I haven’t done anything amazing with my life (although owning a house in Toronto is pretty damn fine in my books).

For your amusement I will see if I can find my high school yearbook and quote some of the great things that were expected for me. Off the top of my head, I remember that my classmates said I was most likely to become an out of work actress teaching Algebra part time. I remember I had to take a math class, so I chose Algebra: “There are only 26 letters in the alphabet, how hard could it be?” I always had the right answer, but got marks deducted for not being able to prove how I’d done it. What, did they think I was psychic?

Dad taught Auto Shop at my high school. He was usually in more trouble than I was. I remember the time he and his class painted Mr. Villenueve’s car—several colours. And the Volkswagen they parked in the cafeteria. And I remember the year his students brought a Christmas tree in to decorate the shop.
“This isn’t off some teacher’s front lawn is it?” my dad asked.
“No sir, it’s not off anybody’s front lawn….”

I also remember going to the prom with the Swedish exchange student — Olaf. I remember he stepped on the back of my dress and ripped it when I picked him up in my Dodge Dart. And that’s about as exciting as the evening got.

Enough reminiscing for now. Wait here and I’ll got get my yearbook. If I only paid for Blog Supremo, you could even see a picture of the Ice Queen when she was but an icicle – but just as cold!