Recently, I found folks from my high school in Italy on Facebook. Though I’m happy to be in touch with some of them again, I have mixed feelings…mostly positive. Looking over some of the new old faces, it’s interesting that well, they’re all so much more beautiful than they were.
Maybe it’s just my preference for older people. As an artist, I find older faces more interesting. I have always also preferred to date older than myself, so there’s some of my romantic preferences probably overlapping my perception…but really they look so much more…I don’t know which word to use…seasoned? Special?
As military brats for the most part, we were special then. I’m not sure how many of us actually understood that. We had experiences that people who grew up in one place their entire childhood and adolescence wouldn’t have…or may have had, but certain things would have been more harmful in that context.
We were kids who knew how to make fast friends. For some of us, this extended into our adult lives where we were able to make family out of friends no matter where we went. Our minds were open to the world. We understood that the U.S. is not the whole world. Some of us, upon returning to the States, though we appreciated our home country, counted the days until we could get back out. Some of us practically kissed the ground and have no intention of leaving it ever again for more than a vacation.
We were and are very special people.
The few enmities there were seem so petty now. The romances and heartbreaks, the whims of silly children. The plots and intrigues, little games that I feel we were actually fortunate to even think of playing. To have so little to worry about that some little slight or insult meant so much.
…yet because it did mean so much, probably because having Maslow basics stable allowed us to see higher, these things did make us stronger, better people. Those of us with harmful home situations could see that we had harmful home situations. Those of us being socially marginalized could see that this was happening. We learned to deal with life, for better or for worse, on the face.
Not one person I went to school with then, can I say was utterly boring, banal, or truly a wimp. Not one. Everyone thought. Everyone had some kind of idea of greatness. Nietzsche would wish he went to Brindisi American High School.
Ah, but not just because of the non fatal ‘Flies factor…because of the art as well. There were some brilliantly creative young minds there. I hope to see and hear others’ work since we’re in touch again. BAHS had alot of talent, so this should be fun. 
Recently:
- The Countdown Begins
- More Truth Roissy Can’t Handle
- No Going Back
- Do Cyborgs Dream of Electric Meat?
- The 80′s Return
- Reasons Not to Screw Up
- The Edge of the Cliff
- Former Fatty Syndrome
- Damaged Goods vs. Classic
- First Audience and Student
