Seeing old friends

On Friday evening, my sweet husband informed me that the next evening was his 35^th class reunion. This gave me about 24 hours’ notice. Bless his heart.

How could he not know that a woman needs time to prepare for such an event? Although he was a year older than me in school, I know several of his friends and former classmates since we went to the same high school.

Of course, “What in the world will I wear?” went through my mind. With a closet full of clothes, a decision like that makes all the options disappear and my mind goes blank.

All joking aside, I was disappointed in the first thought that went through my mind. Although I was disabled in high school, I always walked. I had not been around this group of people in my wheelchair. I felt anxious about it.

So much so that my first words to him were, “I am not sure I am going to go.” I told him my thoughts and he listened. He knows that being around crowds is not my thing anyway. He told me he was fine with whatever I decided to do.

Eventually, the mental boxing match going on in my mind ended. I decided that I wanted to go with him to support him, plus I was looking forward to seeing people I had not seen in a long time.

I not only needed time to plan my outfit, as shallow as that may sound, but I also needed to mentally prepare for how I may be received. If you have not lived disabled, it is a hard thing to explain. It boils down to a deep and prolonged insecurity.

Not to mention that the location of the reunion was the same place of one of the most mortifying nights of my life. Many years ago, I was on a first date there, when a man came up to our table and told my date, “Good for you man, taking on a girl with a gimp like that!” I was not exactly anxious to return there. The pain from that encounter is still raw all these years later.

As we entered the bar/restaurant for the evening, we were greeted by an overly friendly couple of strangers. I thought they were former classmates that I did not recognize, but they were not. They were very curious about why I was in a wheelchair. The encounter was awkward. I spent five minutes trying to convince this lady that yes, I was indeed sure I have Muscular Dystrophy and not Multiple Sclerosis. I do not think she believed me in the end.

When we finally broke away, we headed to the back where his classmates were hanging out. They could not have cared less if I was in a wheelchair or not. I felt my anxiety melt away as we chatted the evening away, reminiscing and catching up on current life events.

The highlight of the evening was running into a guy who was in my graduating class. He was with me from the very beginning from Kindergarten to high school. He was always one of the kind kids that stood up for me.

I thanked him that night for his kindness to me throughout the years. I wanted him to know how much that meant to me. He graciously accepted my compliments. He was the last person we hugged on our way out that night, and I left with a smile on my face.

I was so glad that I had not let insecurity win. I have done that so many times in my life and missed things because of fear. I was glad to leave that place with a new memory to replace the horrific one from many years ago.

Many of his classmates follow our marathon and mission journey, and it was nice to be able to hear their positive feedback.

I hope this serves as a reminder to me next time to face my fears and enjoy the good times.

Until next time…

Amy Shinneman is a former National Ambassador for the Muscular Dystrophy Association, disability blogger, freelance writer, wife, and mom of two boys. She is the recipient of The Reporter’s Winter 2025 Ink-Stained Wretch award. You can find her blog at humblycourageous.org and reach her on Instagram @ashinneman.