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The Spokesman-Review Newspaper
Spokane, Washington  Est. May 19, 1883

No braces, but still shining after 20 years

Courtney Dunham Correspondent

Everything felt different, as I pulled up to Gonzaga Prep High School for my 20th reunion last Friday. For starters, I drove my car, not one borrowed from my parents. And even though I am 25 pounds (a kind estimate) heavier, I am definitely better looking. Of course, that’s not saying much if you saw my senior picture.

Full of confidence and without braces, I walked toward campus. And as I saw classmates in the distance, panic set in. I was 17 again, arriving to a mixer on my own. Where was someone I knew to whom I could run?

Adding to my discomfort was the fact that the school holds several reunions outside at the same time. So as I walked around anxiously looking at name tags, all I saw for the first 10 minutes (torture for a high schooler on her own) were people from 1995, 1975 and even 1955. I finally saw what was left of the check-in table and found a sole name tag for 1985 for my classmate Ling Vu. With no pen around to write my name instead, it would have to do. So I was off to find a bit of my past as Ling.

Luckily I saw an old girlfriend immediately, but in my pursuit to give her a hug and me some self assurance, I caught my foot on someone’s leg and tripped. Her first words weren’t “Great to see you, Court” but rather “Gee, don’t fall down and hurt yourself Court!” at a much louder pitch. I decided after we spoke that it was time for a glass of wine, or two.

I was dumbfounded at my nervousness and irritated that my old best friend didn’t want to come. At least with her there, we could walk around looking stupid, and tripping, together. But then it hit me, I’m not in high school anymore, and I didn’t need anyone to hold my hand or hold me back. As much as I love my friend, with her there I am sure I would have stayed on the sidelines, letting life – the party – come to me.

Well 20 years later, that’s not me anymore. I don’t like to sit on the bench watching all the action. Even if I don’t know what I’m doing, I’d rather jump in and play. Getting knocked around a bit and falling down more often than scoring is still more fulfilling than not playing.

So I began to frolic, walking around to each group I could in the next two hours, saying, “Hey, this is me, not Ling.” My name tag was a humorous icebreaker, as most people knew my face but were confused seeing Ling Vu on my chest. A couple of times I even got, “Are you and Ling married now?”

Thanks to this column, which many said they read, I didn’t have to answer the dreaded “Are you married?” or “How many kids do you have?” too many times. Sure, a few out-of-towners asked, but their responses never made me feel uncomfortable, only a bit giggly. When they heard I was on my own and kid-less, they said, “Oh, I am so sorry.” I only smiled and replied, “Don’t be, life is great.”

Because when life doesn’t turn out the way you planned, it gives you a chance to start over again. Now 20 years later, what could be better than that?