I get ready for my 35th high school reunion much like I got ready for my 10th reunion – in a hurry with the house a mess. Dressing while throwing in loads of dirty wash. Agonizing over my hips. Berating myself for not losing the five pounds I vowed I would lose before the last time I saw these people. Mentally putting my twirling emotions on hold. Trying on four outfits before I am comfortable about how I look. And still not comfortable. Wondering about who else will be there. And who won’t. And why.
Masses of people mingling. Music blaring. Hugging. So many of us hugging. Squeals of delight. Whispered confessions. Huddles of three. Pushing. Back slapping. Hand holding. Snippets of so many sentences beginning with:
- I know you won’t believe this but….
- Remember when….
- Does your mom still…
- I was always afraid to….
- You were always…
So little talk on stocks to buy, candidates to vote for, foreign ports to visit, or new stores to shop.
But this I know to be true:
I judge my high school classmates differently than I judge others. Less harshly. I love them for the very foibles and failings that in others I abhor.
My boyfriend will always be my boyfriend, no matter how long we’ve both been married to someone else.
My best friend will always be my best friend, no matter how many other best friends I have made since graduating from high school in 1965.
My classmates who danced with abandon and delight all night long still do. And the ones who hugged the sidelines watching everyone else laugh and whoop it up, they still do.
We are past boasting.
Some of us live in our dream houses. Most of us are making do with what we’ve got.
Some of us had kids and some of us didn’t. And for those that did, some of our high expectations were met and some were lowered.
How do I sum up a four-year experience that happened with a special group of people so long ago that indelibly shaped me into the person I became, am capable of becoming and sometimes even rise to the occasion to become?
One of my son Sam‘s closest friends said it best when he called from college just hours before my 35th Reunion and I happened to answer the phone: “Life is great,” he confided to me, “but I miss everybody.”
I wrote the above column twenty-five years ago. Soon my husband, Steven, and I will be returning to our hometown to attend our 60th high school reunion.
What hasn’t changed:
My house is still a mess.
And I’m still trying to lose five pounds.
What has changed:
For sure, there will be far fewer of the 750 members of the graduating class of ’65 at our reunion this time than 25 years ago. And far fewer of us will be dancing than 25 years ago due to various hip, knee and back issues.
What will always be:
The exquisite feeling of walking into a room filled with people who knew you:
- before you got your driver’s license,
- when you still had a curfew,
- when you were too young to drink legally
- and when you took your functioning knees, hips and back for granted.
These are my people. This is my original tribe. And I cherish each and every one of them.
Keep Preserving Your Bloom,
Iris Ruth Pastor
