I’m home in Buffalo for the weekend. I’ve been seeing grandparents and high school friends, and noticing some oddities. Once again, I’ve seen how my quirks come from my mom and her mother. My grandmother, while digging into a container of hot fudge: “I wish I didn’t like chocolate so much. But I do.” My mother, at dinner: “You know what my favorite thing to do is? Sleep.” I couldn’t agree more.
Deanna had a birthday party Saturday night, and I saw a few people that I hadn’t seen in years. That’s always weird. It’s weird how guys got bigger and girls got thinner. It’s weird how we had four years of stuff to catch up on, but really, when you have so much time to talk about, it seems like there’s not much to say. It’s weird that people spent a portion of the conversation making gay jokes. Maybe that sounds elitist, but so be it. And it’s weird how sometimes they talked about people just as cruelly as when we were actually in high school. Alhtough, there was definitely some obvious remorse for calling that kid “Twinkie” most of his life — and shock at how, looking back, teachers really messed with our heads.
It’s also weird that I played volleyball that night and had fun. I think the combination of darkness and alcohol leveled the playing field. Basically if you could serve it over the net, chances were slim that anyone could hit it back. Plus the ball kept landing in the pool. I’m glad I went to the party for two reasons: To see Deanna and Sarah, and to be the best player on a volleyball team for once.