The truth about school reunions and why you should avoid them

Reunions tell you more about yourself than others. The clues can come from those people who suddenly look old enough to be your parents – if you didn’t look in the mirror for a few decades.

What more is there to know about the people you left behind?

Why go to reunions? Friends have asked this, children too but mostly I’ve asked it of myself, especially this month when there were two reunions within a week of each other — one a big O school reunion, the other a reunion of my early working life.

What more is there to know about the people you left behind? Sure, there’s curiosity about who aged well and who bears scars of a life turned mean. There are signs that some prospered — key fobs, shoes etc; there’s interest in who still buzzes at the centre of circles and who is caught on the edges looking lost when the group photograph is taken (that’s the top of my head at the rear nearest the exit).

But conversations tend to be tallies than tales. How many children, grandchildren yet, still with partner, doing much work, travelling anywhere interesting and — towards the end of the night — health scares, knees operations and unresolved animosities.

Perversely I find that those who prospered most are the least interesting, the sheen of success can sit slickly on them whereas those who struggled share more interesting stories, as if they grew deeper roots into life’s foundations.

Reunions tell you more about yourself than others.

In between the reunions, I wondered whether to repeat the performance. After all, much of this is performative — make up, hair, shoes that elevate but don’t pinch, an outfit that will fit the personality you hope to project and a confidence that belies how you feel about it all, how you feel about them. Who will you be when you meet them.

And that, I decided, is what is most interesting about meeting up with people you spent years toiling beside but who disappeared from your life when the last bell rang or you walked out with a proverbial cheque in your pocket.

Reunions tell you more about yourself than others. They give clues about who you were and remind you of what you’ve fashioned from that nascent self.

These clues can come from those people who suddenly look old enough to be your parents — if you didn’t look in the mirror for a few decades. For instance, I was told at the work reunion that I was always so confident and, by other person, that I was a toughie.

It wasn’t how I remembered it, when I made telephone calls that twisted my gut, or fronted up to meetings with people who had reason to dislike me or simply walked the corridors hoping not to have eye contact with anyone. Part of me wonders how the young woman pulled off such a disguise, another part wants to pat her on the back and remind her wrinkled old self that it’s still there, somewhere in the toolbox.

But clues can come from how you respond to those who shared your early life. It’s like a switch that turns you into what you were when you see old classmates, eyeing your entrance above champagne flutes. And, yup, I was a rebel and no amount of maturity seems to stop me talking loudly, too frankly and peppering my vaguely inappropriate questions with the swear words I dearly loved and still parlay today.

And, I suppose, this is as good a space as any to apologise for my indiscretions; to reassure those who may be interested (and many aren’t) that I don’t usually imbibe that many Negronis in one sitting and to point out that I may have looked aloof and mean at school but I was probably just feeling put upon (nuns) and shy.

I should also say it was interesting seeing you all but mostly it was interesting to meet myself again.

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