It was sweltering that June afternoon in 1987 as we stood in the dark orifices of Rupp Arena waiting to begin the much-ballyhooed ceremony that would pass us from childhood to adulthood: high school graduation. Our guest speaker was running late, and the oppressive Kentucky heat was causing my acetate maroon gown and my white graduation dress underneath to stick to my back.
I was Becky Toomey back then, so I stood in line with the other Ts, Us, and Vs from the senior class of Tates Creek High School. As we waited, I had a long overdue conversation with the Todd twins, two good-looking blonde boys that had been in my homeroom since the beginning of high school, but for some reason (probably related to some sort of icky high school caste system), I’d never had a conversation with either of them.
“If I run for President, will you vote for me?” asked one of the twins excitedly.
“Of course!” I answered with equal enthusiasm. And on that day, I meant it. I watched as he walked down the line from the Ts to the Zs to garner more support and high fives, smiling all the way.
It was just that kind of day, my high school graduation, full of excitement and anticipation for all of life’s mysteries to come. The sun was shining and my future was a blank slate. I was still young enough to believe that I actually could be the Editor-in-Chief of French Vogue, that typing class would pay off (it did), that the asymmetrical bob would always be chic, that a woman might someday be President, that all of my family and friends would live as long as I did, and that there was only one true love for me and we would find each other before I turned twenty-five. Ah, the arrogance of youth …
I tried to remember as much as I could about everything happening around me that day so I could recount it on some auspicious occasion, like, say, my twentieth high school reunion. I even thought briefly about what my life would look like as a thirty-seven year old: I’d be married (of course!), have three kids, a dog, a house, and a fabulous writing career that I would balance with my fairytale family and my smokin’ hot sex life with my Jake Ryan look alike of a husband. (Gimme a break, it was 1987, I liked Sixteen Candles, okay?)
