“‘Remember when’ is the lowest form of conversation.”
I remember in Mrs. Starr’s 11th grade English class, her recounting something that happened at her 20th High School reunion.
She was catching up with some old friends there, when she noticed a group of men huddled around a TV set.
Curious, she wandered over to see what was going on.
The tv was showing some grainy image of what looked like a football game, though she couldn’t really make out any of the players, or even the field, distinctly.
The guy showing this video, though, sure could.
“There I am, you see?” He said, pointing to some blurry, moving image. “I’m about to run through the line for a first (down). We made State because of this.”
She was amazed.
Not at the video.
At the man, who was now an out-of-shape schlub who had brought this VHS tape to the reunion.
To show anyone who remembered what he had once been.
She realized that he was doing it, because that game had been his peak. It was all downhill from there.
From 18 years old.
That is among the saddest things I’d ever heard, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to live knowing my peak is behind me.
And you shouldn’t live that way, either. There should be a summer, eternally, in front of you.
Live knowing you’re still climbing.
The struggle is what you make it.
But it’s also what makes you.