I certainly won’t forget John Hughes. He made my high school years bearable. Well, he and some really, really good friends did.
To this day, in my opinion, The Breakfast Club remains one of those iconic movies that totally captured what it was like. “It” being high school — even though I went to an all-girl school, and even though I never had detention, I got it. Hell, I was living it. It felt to me that The Breakfast Club didn’t condescend, and it didn’t lie.
I completely loved the letter than Anthony Michael Hall’s character leaves for the douchebag principal. I thought about it all day yesterday:
“Dear Mr. Vernon, we accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday in detention for whatever it was we did wrong, but we think you’re crazy to make us write an essay telling you who we think we are. You see us as you want to see us… In the simplest terms and the most convenient definitions. But what we found out is that each one of us is a brain and an athlete and a basket case, a princess, and a criminal.
“Does that answer your question?… Sincerely yours, the Breakfast Club.”
We went to the ENT for Bun’s myringotomy follow-up. Bun is doing just great with ear tubes, and the doctor seemed very pleased. She let me take a peek in the otoscope to see what it looked like in there; it was like a pipeline. Then they gave Bun a hearing test, and she got 100%.
Which kind of surprised me only because I have to call her name about 20 times before she hears me.
Today is the girls’ last day at DCL. I have to admit to being a chicken about the whole thing — DearDR volunteered to tell her they were leaving, and I let him do it. When I apologized for letting him to our dirty work, he said, “You’re not good at stuff like that.” Wondering exactly what he meant, I asked. “Being diplomatic,” he replied. “You’re not good at it. I am. Don’t worry about it.”
He’s right, too. I could not be called diplomatic or tactful. I think I’ve come a long way from high school though. The “no filter” years. Trust me.
Speaking of high school, if I haven’t missed the RSVP date (and if my MIL can watch the girls overnight), we are going to go to my 20th high school reunion. Up in Erie. I don’t really want to go, except out of morbid curiosity. I’m in touch with the people I want to be in touch with from high school — all two of ’em (hi, H; hi, M). I do miss A, but she and I have grown very far apart. It happens I guess.
Between the reunion, and our vacation in Cape Cod the following week, it’s time for me to commit to getting back in shape. (Yeah, in less than 3 weeks.) I have the 30-day shred DVD. And I’m doing it.
We are officially entering the Gabriel anniversary days. I will be appropriately reflective.
You’ve been warned.