Did I mention…?
That’s us. The class of 1993.
We rocked the 110th birthday of Roedean School Parktown.
We sang our hearts out.
We posed for pics everywhere.
I can’t lie. On Friday night I stood outside the restaurant for a good twenty minutes plucking up the courage to walk in. It was worth it.
We might not have been friends in those years, but our common experience binds us. We have each others backs.
We are all very different women, but we share the same spirit.
Over the last twenty years we’ve all seen our share of successes and tragedies.
We are be mothers, businesswomen, Rhodes Scholars, lawyers, award-wining authors, writers and so on.
We’re living examples of “Wathint’abafazi, wathint’imbokodo!” (Now you have touched the women, you have struck a rock.)
I can’t say I loved school. There were times I was as miserably unhappy as only a teenager can be.
I avoided sport like the plague. I got into trouble. I talked back to my teachers. But overall, they were pretty good days.
I’ve said before that I can count the teachers who made a difference in my life on one hand. It was incredible to meet one of them again.
I still don’t click my pens. I always think before asking a stupid question and I don’t think everyone is always out to get me. Alright, maybe the last statement is a lie. I’ve never quite lost the paranoia.
What astounds me, is that she remembers every name, of every girl. Somehow we must have made an impression on her too. She may not have given birth to any daughters, but she’s got hundreds of us out there who owe us our lives and our careers.
Poor Miss Thorn was our class teacher for years as no other teacher wanted anything to do with us. We weren’t a sterling example of school spirit. In fact our class photograph is out of chronological order, hung in a dark corner at the end of the passage.
We never signed the Roedean book either.
Every class since 1902 signed it, but not us. I can’t remember what we did except that the headmistress said we weren’t worthy.
I’m glad we proved her wrong.
We were worthy then and we’re still worthy now.
Overall, 1993 was a bum year for music.
Looking at our yearbook photos, it was a pretty bad year for hair too.
But it had us going for it.
I wish more of us had made it to the reunion, but scattered across the world it wasn’t going to be.
They were missed, remembered and had a lot of glasses raised to them.
So here’s to the girls who officially and unofficially made up the class of 1993.
See you in twenty years.