In 2013, I had the occasion to be recognized by a former classmate after swimming in a two mile open water event. The only thing I can imagine is that my hair, recently confined to a swim cap, was reminiscent of the lack of style I had in the sixth grade. The woman asking me if I was Bridget T. was not at all familiar. I no longer have the skill of placing people out of context, and she was not in a classroom (or about 11 years old). I replied, “I used to be.” She introduced herself, and I recalled being in class with her for three years, once upon a time. The encounter was pleasant enough. We had grown well past sixth grade angst in the approximately 35 years since our last encounter. We compared notes on professions, children, and where we lived now.
After this encounter, I made the pro forma searches through social media to see if we might keep in touch, but I didn’t see that happening. We hadn’t really been friends, and I hadn’t given her a passing thought since we were in school together. As pleasant as the visit was, I had no interest in going back to find other classmates in order to cultivate anything with any of them. I don't wish to relive that time, but if I could go back, I would want to see me. I have nothing to say to my former classmates, beyond the conversation that strikes up from a chance encounter. I have plenty to say to my sixth grade self.
I would say (although I really knew it at the time)
that zits go away and braces will work.
There would be many times of feeling like I looked good,
and even times of feeling truly beautiful.
I would say that for all the times I was picked last in gym,
I would offer encouragement to beginning swimmers of all ages
and take on endurance events like triathlon and open water swimming.
I would encounter champions, including a few Olympians-
one of whom was astonished by my ability (and willingness) to swim up to eight miles.
I would say that although French class was never the path to fluency I hoped,
I would one day walk through Paris.
I would travel through many countries,
and make myself understood with limited language skills and unlimited smiles.
Marla says she and her friends asked, “What ever became of Bridget?” Perhaps the greater question is to ask, “Did I ever think I’d be where I am?” Fortunately, my younger self managed to muddle through without the wisdom or encouragement of hindsight. It has been quite an adventure, with more to come.
