I recently attended a high school reunion in
Spokane, my home town.
I’ve gone to some of the reunions over the
years, not all. I tried to reflect on
the differences from one reunion to the next.
To begin with, I’ve always been curious about the lives of the people I
went to high school with. Not everyone
shares this curiosity. I’m one of those
people who can look at my first grade photo and name just about everybody in
the class. I’m no more “social” than the
next person, probably less. Why this
curiosity, I wonder.
What I remember about my tenth reunion is
that a couple of friends I stayed in contact with weren’t interested in
going. I think there was a fear that the
classmates who had begun successful careers would flaunt their successes. I don’t think that actually happened, but the
tenth was a long time ago.
What struck me at the twentieth was the
difference in ages. Some of my
classmates looked like weathered versions of their high school selves. Others looked like they belonged to my parents’
generation. True, the fact that some of
the women had married older men underlined this perception.
What I remember about my thirtieth was that a
live band played dance music so loud the only way you could talk was to yell
into someone’s ear. I wanted to talk to
people, not listen to music or dance. (I
don’t think much dancing happened.)
So what was my experience at the
fifty-fifth? First, that I was lucky to
be part of a class with a handful of people, women mostly, who made an effort
to keep the class together. As with most
volunteer organizations, it takes one or two people with energy and persistence
to make things happen. From a graduating
class of six hundred plus, eighty were present.
Second, I realized as I spoke with people
that time was the great equalizer. The
girls who had been pretty now looked about the same as the girls who had been
homely. The athletes were now no more
athletic than the rest of us. And now
that most of us were retired, there was a similar tone in the summaries we shared
with one another of our careers: some pride in the things that worked out, a
wistful regret about the things that hadn’t.
A pride in what the grandkids are doing makes all of us equal. Many of the women are widows. Concern about health of self or spouse is
another equalizer.
When I walked into the room I recognized
only a handful of people. So what do you do,
make eye contact, walk up and gaze at the name tag and realize this
is someone you never knew? My strategy
was to find a couple of people I went to grade school with—yes, some of us
remembered the furniture and some of the routines of Miss Vermillion’s
kindergarten class—and have them point out others from my grade school.
But the truth is that it was easy to talk to
anyone, and I had a couple of dozen conversations before we left. Almost everyone had acquired a social ease we
didn’t have in high school. Whether we’ve
lived in the world or stayed in Spokane and raised our kids a few blocks from
where we grew up ourselves, we all have pasts that are interesting to those who
are curious. Talking about ourselves and
learning about others is a larger part of the lives of older folks than it was
when we were younger. Seems like a good thing.
