FORTY Years Later, I’m Finally Showing Up
Reunion, redemption, and the long road back to self‑worth.
We were the “first to go four” at Brentwood High School — the first freshmen to walk into a brand‑new building in 1982 and the first to walk out as graduates in 1986.
FORTY f**king years ago. Did you read that? FORTY.
It’s wild to think about how much life has happened since then, and how much of who I became was shaped by those four years — for better and for worse.
Brentwood back then wasn’t the polished, upper‑middle‑class enclave it is today. It was still half‑woods, half‑suburb, the kind of place where you could wander through thick vines with your dog and your brother and feel like the world was huge and wild. Those woods are mostly gone now, replaced by houses that cost more than my entire childhood.
The school itself did a fantastic job educating us. But it was also where I learned what it meant to be bullied, singled out, and scrutinized for something I didn’t even fully understand yet — my sexuality. Being perceived as “gay” in the mid‑80s wasn’t just dangerous; it was exhausting. Every hallway felt like a test I didn’t sign up for.
And yet, even with all that, I had three true friends who made those years survivable. I’m looking forward to seeing them again — and a handful of others I’ve grown close to over the past FORTY f**king years. But there are still a few who seem just as snotty now as they were then. Time may heal wounds, but it doesn’t always fix personalities.
I went to our 25th reunion in 2011 and had a surprisingly good time, even though I was deep in the far‑right/conversion‑therapy world. I’m sure it confused people. A few were probably relieved I had “found Jesus.”
Of course, I came out in 2015.
Since then, I made a comment on a classmate’s post about a non‑binary acquaintance who turned out to be a criminal. Some classmates unfriended me over it. Oh well. I’ll live.
But here’s the thing: most of my classmates have never met me as a healthy, stable, mature gay man. They’ve never met my husband. They’ve never seen the version of me that finally feels like himself.
So yes — I’m nervous.
I don’t want to walk in feeling judged or awkward, like I’m 16 again and trying to shrink myself to avoid attention. I don’t want to deal with lingering negativity from the Facebook fiasco. I’m concerned about homophobia from a few of the guys. I don’t want my husband or me disrespected. And I definitely don’t want to watch old social hierarchies snap back into place like a rubber band.
But I also know I’m being judgmental. Time has tempered a lot of things, including my own perspective. The class as a whole wasn’t as awful as I thought they were. And I haven’t exactly given them a chance to know me outside of the pain I carried back then.
They haven’t seen the healthy gay man I am today. And I’ve never interacted with them as him either.
Last week I wrote about struggling with a “core sense of value” — the belief that I matter simply because I exist, not because of what I can do or provide.
So I’m going to this reunion for one reason: Teen Randy deserves a champion.
He deserves someone to stand beside him and say, You were valuable all along. Those four years — not just school, but everything around them — stole any sense of safety and worth I had.
I’m rich now in all the ways that matter: love, relationships, self‑awareness, stability, peace.
Teen Randy deserves to be seen as an equal among his peers, even if I’m the only one who knows that’s why I’m going.
And my classmates deserve something too — the chance to be seen outside the lens of my old pain. Just like they haven’t met the man I am today, I’ve never met them without the armor I built back then.
Who knows? We may have an absolutely fantastic time.
Well, sh*t. Just gave myself another compelling reason to go.
Life is weird, people are complicated, and apparently I have a lot to say about both. Subscribe (free or paid) and I’ll deliver fresh stories, reflections, and the occasional bad joke straight to your inbox—saving you from having to remember to check Substack yourself.