7 July, 2013
Thirty years
came and went. Where did they go? It was all about the cutest boy, the hottest
girl, what was playing on the radio and the latest beer bust at the lake. Now
it’s about children, grandchildren, careers, jobs and bills. One minute we were
lost in teenage heartbreak, drama, parties and parking on country roads, the
next we’re arriving at the door of a restaurant, nervous, giddy and excited.
Pictures
taped to the walls remind us of who we once were. Four pictures on a poster
remind us of how many and who we lost. Sadness fills us, gladness over-takes us
and we revel in the joy of seeing each other again.
Marty
met me at the door with a hug and a “You look great!” Thanks, Marty. You’re
good for a woman’s ego. The next one I saw was Julie. She was easy to
recognize, with twinkling eyes and a flip of her hair. Theresa laughed and
welcomed me aboard. Brenda introduced herself to me. Brenda? My gosh. You haven’t
changed.
I saw
Susan and knew her in an instant. She’s still gorgeous. I always hated her for
that—but in a friendly way. Teresa, your hair is short. I hardly recognized you,
but you look great. Deanna, still so pretty and fun, you were always one of my
favorites to watch. I forgot to ask how your family is.
Paul
hadn’t changed. He served dinner in his restaurant, The Courtyard Café, with
the help of his family; his son looks so much like him. The food was fabulous,
just like you expect it to be down home.
I knew
Pat and Shelley would be there. It was a race down the highway, first me, then
them and on again—a dangerous, fun game of bumper tag at high rates of speed.
That is, until I saw the cop on the side of the road and hit the brakes. They
flew past me, uncaring about the man with the badge, waving and laughing. It
reminded me of those days thirty years ago.
Conversation
moved quickly: How is your sister? Where do you live? What are you doing now?
How many kids? Do you remember . . .?
Do you
remember? My time with these lovely people was a total of six years. It started
in church camp and seventh grade. I had the pleasure of watching them go from
pig tails and bubble gum to plans for education, marriage, career.
Then
there was nothing. It’s my own fault. I walked away in 1986 and returned to be
sociable only once in thirty years. Our twenty year reunion was fun, but I
walked away after that, too. It was good to see everyone, but I was done when
the night was over.
Something
strange happened this time, though. It wasn’t just good to see my former
classmates. It was a connection to home that I was missing. It actually felt
good to be home, not that it wasn’t good before. It’s just that before I wasn’t
ready to rejoin that part of my life. I was busy with a new baby, a very demanding
career, a home in need of work and all that writing I’ve done over the past
many years. I suppose it’s safe to say that now I’m at a more settled place in
life and it was good to be home with everyone.
It’s
funny the things you remember. Marty was a funny guy who liked to torment me.
Susan sat next to me in Simonson’s history class (or was it English?) and
always whispered funny quips. Teresa was a long-legged cheerleader with a sharp
eye. Preston is still smiling. Pat was the athlete and Shelley cheered him at
every game. Donita and Ed attended the same college as I, always together,
always holding hands.
Duane
and Denise, brother and sister, close and friendly. I remember the day Duane’s
car slid off the road in the wet snowfall, right in front of our bus. Their
mother, our driver, shook her head, stopped the bus and let them in. Not a word
was said, but Duane told me his mother let him have it when they got home.
Theresa
had a laugh that can still be recognized today. It’s infectious and raucous, and
full of the joy of life. Julie was always very quiet. At the reunion, there
were stories she told with the others that led me to believe there was a great
deal more to her—especially after meeting her husband. They make a fun couple.
Tiffany, what is there to say? She hasn’t lost her wit and had me in stitches.
I would
have known Linda anywhere. She’s still that young girl sitting on the Miss
Pittsfield float, swatting bugs and waving to the crowd. Becky changed, but only
the color of her hair, and she and Theresa and Linda put on a great
get-together.
There
are more names, more people to name, but I’m thirty years older and that much
more forgetful. (Oh, thanks for the hug, George.) So many didn’t show. Those
who lived in and around town must have been too busy on their farms or with
family on the holiday weekend. I was sorry they didn’t come and Bev said she
would be there. Too bad she never arrived.
It took
thirty years, but I finally got a class award. “The Most Interesting Hobby.” I
shall treasure that little piece of paper and post it on my website when next I
publish again. It will serve as a reminder of how far I’ve come since those
days of our youth.
Pittsfield
High School Class of 1983, thanks for a great time. I can’t wait for the next
one.
