Going Home

They say you can't go home again, but sometimes I like to try. When I went to L.A. at the end of January, the primary purpose of my trip was to attend a luncheon at my prep school in Pasadena. I was invited to said luncheon because I have donated money to my little prep school for at least twenty consecutive years (I graduated in 1988, and my donations began soon after). I must admit that I never give a ton of money in any one year, but even the relatively small donations I make add up after a couple dozen years. So I happily joined the other donors to nibble on chicken, salads and yummy desserts. Doesn't my table of luncheon attendees look happy?

I don't know how you felt about high school...or junior high or elementary school for that matter; I attended the same school from second through twelfth grade...but I loved school. Loved it. To be clear, my secondary school experience wasn't without angst or drama. There were mean girls, to be sure. In fact, I pulled a few stints as a mean girl, myself, in junior high. Overall, I was very nice, but there were a couple of instances when I was the bitch. A racist episode or two proved annoying, but thankfully those were rare. I also was overweight through my adolescence, which didn't exactly make me super popular with the boys once we hit high school. However, I had plenty of friends, both boys and girls, and the good greatly outweighed the bad (no pun intended).

I credit my education with so many positive things in my life that go far beyond diplomas or which facts I do or don't know. It's the least I can do to throw a couple hundred dollars to my prep school every year (I also donate to Brown, my college alma mater). And the best parts about coming back to visit every once in a while are that we've all grown up, I lost all my extra teenage weight years ago and no one is a mean girl anymore.