A Reunion That Wasn’t Perfect, and That’s Why It Hit Harder
The event was billed as a live table reading of the pilot episode, with the original cast gathering at the Richard Rodgers Theatre in New York. It was for charity, raising funds for F Cancer, and for James Van Der Beek, who is currently in treatment for stage-3 colorectal cancer.
Except James himself couldn’t make it. Two stomach viruses kept him away, and suddenly, Dawson Leery, the Dawson, was missing from his own reunion. Enter Lin-Manuel Miranda, stepping in as the world’s most overqualified understudy. In another context, it might have been surreal or even humorous. But on this night, it became something else: a reminder that reunions aren’t about perfect execution. They’re about showing up for each other, however you can.
And Van Der Beek did show up, just differently. In a video message projected to the audience, he thanked everyone for coming, and then, in the most emotional twist, his wife and their six kids were in the audience, and they joined the cast in singing Paula Cole’s “I Don’t Want to Wait.”
Cue: my morning train tears.
Nostalgia Meets Reality
Via 82yems
The reunion wasn’t just about revisiting Capeside. It was about acknowledging where we all are now. The cast are no longer wide-eyed teens; they’re adults with careers, families, losses, and life experience. And Van Der Beek’s absence was the most powerful part of the night. Watching his children stand in his place, singing the song that once defined a generation, was more emotional than any perfect lineup could have been.
It reminded me that nostalgia isn’t about recreating the past frame for frame. It’s about seeing how the past lives inside the present. When the theme song played on that stage, sung by a new generation of Leery kids, it was like the universe saying: the creek still flows.
This Reunion Felt Different
Most TV reunions are glossy, made-for-streaming content dumps designed to sell merch or juice subscriber numbers. Dawson’s Creek’s reunion wasn’t that. It was messy, imperfect, and emotional. It had sickness, substitutions, and shaky voices singing a '90s anthem. And that’s what made it unforgettable.
It was personal. A reunion for one of their own, not just for the cameras.
It was intergenerational. Van Der Beek’s kids literally carried the song forward.
It was community. Fans, cast, and family, all connected by the same melody.
And for those of us watching from afar, on livestreams, or Twitter clips, or yes, a smartphone on the morning train, it felt less like content and more like permission to feel something big.
From Cringe to Catharsis
When I recently rewatched the show, I joked about how it was both cringeworthy and comforting. The oversized sweaters, the philosophical monologues no teenager should realistically be capable of, the endless triangle of Dawson–Joey–Pacey. It was ridiculous. And it was everything.
The reunion reminded me that the cringe doesn’t cancel out the catharsis. We’re allowed to laugh at how earnest it all was and admit that it shaped us. We’re allowed to poke fun at the melodrama and cry when we see those kids singing “I Don’t Want to Wait” twenty-five years later.
It turns out the creek isn’t a place you leave behind. It’s a place you carry with you, until one day it surprises you on a train commute and makes you sob into your coffee.
