After years of avoidance, it's time to face the truth. My alma mater is sending around information about my 15th College Reunion, and I've already made plans to go to a high school gathering after almost 20 years. There's no getting around it; I'm going to have to shake off the shy wall-flower girl, go to the social gatherings, and see what time has wrought upon my classmates.
To be honest, I can probably deal with my social phobias. I've had to deal with the booze-and-schmooze and meet-and-greets enough now in my professional life that I can deal with it for a few hours. However, it's giving the synopsis of my personal history that I really dread, i.e. that awkward three or four sentence discussion of family situations, kid counts, career milestones, and number and type of degrees.
Like these from Don't You Forget About Me: A Novel by Jancee Dunn, c. 2008 (A real writer can write it better!)
Took my first job after college as a stockbroker in NYC but got disillusioned. Married a great lady named Cindy and we have two kids, Matteo and Michaela. Last year my wife and I started a home organization company called Clarity Begins at Home and we are kicking Ass! Psyched for the reunion (47).
Grad-school—got MBA then did a stint at IBM. Five years at Citigroup, then settled in Randolph, NJ. Started adult day-care facility with brother-in-law in PA. Also moved into development two years ago, currently building town-houses in Union County (137).
“Are you feeling as old as I am? … Twenty years ago, we were going to the prom.” “Still in Richmond ... Michael and I just love it and we’re very involved in the community. Still a riding instructor, I have a great crop of kids this year. The parents are a little much, but I can handle it. … I’ve attached a pic of me on Senator, [a horse] (139).
Hiiiii! You look amazing! Goood, good, I live in Rahway, you know where that is, near Linden? How many kids do you have? Three? Well, then, you have your hands full, am I right? (188)
I live in Red Hook, in Brooklyn, and I’m a freelance animator, so I go to places like VH1 and work on some project for six weeks. Then I spend another two weeks in a coffee place, worry about where my next gig is coming from. …. I was once married and it lasted for eight months, so I suppose that’s all I need to say about that. (191)
It's a whole messy "me" conversation, and I was always told not to talk about yourself too much or sound too braggy. I always undersell myself, or better yet, avoid the conversation completely. Better yet, I wish I could just LIE! (Darn Google, my unique name, and morals; I can't!) I should have joined the CIA when I thought about it, so I couldn't talk about what I was doing! Can you imagine that conversation?
"So, Auntie Nettie, what do you do?"
"Well, I live in the D.C. area, and work for a federal agency, but I'm not allowed to tell you anymore due to restrictions placed on me by the Office of Homeland Security. If I told you, I would ... literally ... have to kill you."
Gulp! "Well, okay then. Let me show you these pictures of Junior and little Princess!"
I told you. I have an active imagination. G-Dawg and I talk about it all the time.
I was thinking about reunions and those types of catch-up conversations, when I stumbled across this quote in another novel. Wouldn't it be great if I could print something like this on a personal "business card," you know, one with contact numbers and salient personal points? I wish I had the guts to do it real life -- just to stave off those looks that I know are coming.
Please note: the emphasis in italics mine. ... and most importantly, my genes are not defective. My jeans are ....
We could have made a family … but we chose not to. First of all, my genes are defective and not to be passed along. I would not want to gift anyone with a DNA package producing the mental distress I’ve enjoyed throughout my days on the planet, nor would I want to live with anyone experiencing the same. Second all, I am terrible parenting material. I am a journalist. I observe from a distance, take notes, analyze, surgically dissect, and sew a subject back together as a written piece. Child rearing is a contact sport. Kids need more than a parent who observes them from the far end of the runway for some twenty years in hopes of getting material for a book, and that was the only reason I could think of to have a child.
Entertaining disasters: a novel (with recipes) by Nancy Spiller, copyright 2009
Pages 52/53:Suggestions about politely turning a conversation around to the other person are welcome! I'll let you know how it all turns out later.
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