The Breakfast Club and the Reunion I Skipped

Last night, I rewatched The Breakfast Club for what must be the hundredth time. I’ve always loved that movie—it’s one of those classic ‘80s films that seemed to define a generation. But this time, I noticed things I’d never paid much attention to before.

First, the language and some of the subject matter. Wow. I didn’t remember it being quite so rough around the edges! Still, once I looked past that, I was reminded why the story has always stuck with me. Five students from five very different high school cliques—the popular girl, the jock, the brain, the weirdo, and the rebel—trapped together in Saturday detention.

It struck me how much those same groups existed in my own high school. We all had our categories, our little boxes that supposedly defined who we were.

If I had to choose, I probably would have fallen into “the brain” group back then—but in my heart, I always leaned toward the rebel side. Maybe that’s why the movie has always spoken to me. Beneath all those labels, each of those kids just wanted to be understood, accepted, and seen for who they truly were.

Ironically, last night was also my high school’s 50th reunion. When the announcement first came out, I was excited. I wanted to go, to see old friends and maybe even reconnect with a few classmates I hadn’t seen in decades. But as the date drew closer, something inside me shifted. Partly it was due to personal reasons, partly because I had family coming in from out of town—and honestly, I just wanted to spend that time with them.

So, I didn’t go.

Today, as I scroll through Facebook, I know I’ll see pictures of smiling faces from that reunion. I’m both looking forward to seeing them and dreading it a little too.

A 50th reunion only comes once in a lifetime, and I know I’ll never get another chance at it.

There’s a part of me that hates missing it.

But another part of me—the rebel part, maybe—feels at peace with my choice. After all, The Breakfast Club taught me long ago that who we are doesn’t depend on which group we fit into or which events we attend. It’s about being true to ourselves, right where we are.

And as I sat there last night watching that movie, I couldn’t help but think how much life is like that Saturday detention—different people from all walks of life brought together for a reason. Some lessons come late, some arrive quietly, but God always knows what He’s doing.

Maybe I didn’t need to go back to my high school reunion to relive old memories. Maybe what I needed was right there in front of me: a reminder that I’ve already been shaped, refined, and freed by the One who truly sees me—no labels, no groups, just grace.

Lord, thank You for reminding me that who I am in You is far more important than who I was in high school. Help me to live each day true to myself and to the person You’ve created me to be. Amen.

Mrs. Ellington a lesson in grammar and Grace

In the center, white pantsuit

I’ll never forget my eighth-grade English teacher, Mrs. Betty Ellington — a truly remarkable woman born in 1916, back when ladies still wore gloves to church and manners were as important as math. By the time I met her, she was what we affectionately called a “blue-haired lady,” though she’d likely have preferred “silvery-haired Southern gentlewoman.” She carried herself with such poise and grace that even her posture seemed to correct ours.

Mrs. Ellington taught in the DeKalb County School System for over forty years, with more than thirty of those right there at Clarkston High School. Most of us owe our command of the English language — and perhaps our tendency to correct others — to her. She was a stickler for grammar, and heaven help you if you ended a sentence with a preposition. She had us memorize all forty-eight of them, pounding them into our teenage brains until we could recite them in our sleep.

I can still rattle off the start of the list: aboard, about, above, across, after, against, along, amid, among, around, at… — and yes, I can still hear her voice echoing, “Keep going, class!” I must’ve driven my poor family crazy, wandering around the house muttering prepositions under my breath like a preacher in a spelling bee revival.

She also made sure we learned the eight parts of speech, diagrammed sentences until our hands cramped, and used only blue, black, or blue-black ink — nothing else would do. You didn’t dare turn in an assignment in pencil or (heaven forbid) green ink unless you were looking for extra homework.

But outside the classroom, Mrs. Ellington revealed a softer, more joyful side — especially at Clarkston Baptist Church. I’ll never forget seeing her at the piano, her perfectly coiffed hair catching the light, her hands gliding across the keys with pure joy. She’d look out at the congregation with the biggest smile on her face, completely at ease and full of the Spirit. The same woman who ran her classroom like the Queen’s Court could let loose in church, beaming as she played hymns that made you want to shout “Amen!”

She had her own brand of Southern elegance — she loved fancy clip-on earbobs (the sparklier, the better), beautiful neck scarves tied just so, and she was a die-hard Georgia Tech fan, bless her heart. You could always count on her to display school spirit in the most ladylike way possible — probably with a gold brooch or a tasteful ribbon.

Mrs. Ellington was the definition of a “gentile Southern lady” — dignified, devoted, and deeply godly. She taught generations of students not only how to write a proper sentence, but how to carry themselves with grace and purpose. She passed away at the age of 92, leaving behind a legacy that lives on in every essay, letter, and grammatically correct Facebook post written by one of her students.

To this day, when I hear someone say “where’s it at,” I can almost feel Mrs. Ellington looking down from heaven, shaking her head with that patient, knowing smile. I like to think she’s still correcting papers up there — in blue-black ink, of course — and maybe playing a few hymns on that heavenly piano between classes.

Dear Lord,

Thank You for the teachers who shape our minds and our hearts. Thank You especially for Mrs. Betty Ellington, who taught us that every word matters — in grammar and in life. May we honor her legacy by speaking with kindness, writing with purpose, and living with the same grace she carried so well.

And if she’s up there grading our work, Lord, please remind her to use a little mercy with that red pen.

Amen.

 

Racing against time

Today I realized I'm old. Of course, I've known it for some time, I just hated to admit it. But when notification of my 50th high school reunion popped into my email, I kind of freaked. 50 years? How could it be that long ago that I was roaming the halls of my beloved school? How could that much time have passed since I've seen so many of my oldest and dearest friends? 

I used to laugh when I heard my mother in law talking about her 50th high school reunion. At that time, I thought, "Wow! She's really old!" Instead, I should have been thinking, "How wonderful to have lived long enough to attend such a milestone event." I was very naive back then. 

Our school has changed so much over the past 50 years. I've driven by several times since 1975 and have made a mental note of each visible change. In some ways, it looks the same, but in others it doesn't. The demographics of that area have drastically changed since I was a student there. Back then, not many of my friends or I had our own cars, now the lot is filled with all sorts of vehicles, and not cheap, beat up ones like the ones my friends were able to afford (if they bought them on their own). Some of my friends had well to do parents who graciously gifted them cars. I was so jealous, especially of the ones with a 1965 Mustang. I wanted that car so badly! Those were the days. 

I'm feeling my age, for sure. Today I was up and down off a ladder as I repaired some settling cracks in our new home. We've been here almost a year and the tiny cracks have started to appear. They're not difficult to repair. I've taken care of them in the past 4 homes I've lived in so I know exactly what to do, but today...getting up and down off the ladder was much harder that it was in the past. And when I got through with the job, I had to sit down and rest a while. I was "plumb tuckered out." 

It seems like I'm racing against time now. Every day seems to go by so quickly! I get up early each day and accomplish as many things as I can, but the minutes and hours fly. By the time I get ready for bed, I wonder when time sped up. It never used to go by so quickly. 

I'm doing everything I can to stay fit. In fact, just yesterday, I bought an new inversion table. Upon our last move, I made the silly mistake of giving mine away thinking I wouldn't want it any longer, but I was wrong. I've missed it terribly. Hanging upside down stretches out my aching spine and seems to help with pain. Only now I have to tilt back slower than I used to because if I don't, I'll get super dizzy and start to feel light headed. I guess that's a blood pressure shift. 

So many things have changed in our world over the last 50 years but I notice my own changes the most. I wonder, if I make it to the reunion, how many friends I'll recognize and how many of them will recognize me? We're all a little shorter, a lot grayer, and a few pounds heavier than we used to be. And I imagine they're feeling the same way I am about the future. 

I wish we could turn back the clock and start over knowing all the things we do now. What different experience high school would be with that knowledge! Oh well, we lived, we learned, and those of us who're still around have done our best to stay in touch thanks to Facebook. 

I don't have details on the date for the reunion yet or the location. I sure hope it fits into my schedule. I'd love to see certain people I hung out with back then and catch up, especially one or two of my old boyfriends - but I'm sure they're happily married now, as am I. 

Getting old is challenging but it's better than not growing old at all. Every day I wake up on this side of the ground, I'm thankful. I hope you are, too.