Reunions

This year commemorates my 50th anniversary of graduation from Kenmore High School. [Ours was the last class to graduate from the school with that name. Future classes would graduate from Kenmore West (the same building) or Kenmore East. But our class was all together. All 791 of us (my memory could be off by some, but definitely at least the mid-700’s). No longer would cheerleaders shout “Let’s go, KHS! Let’s go, KHS!” at football and basketball games.]

Reunions offer an opportunity to reacquaint oneself with old friends and people who weren’t necessarily your friends way back when but turn out to be delightful people now and you want to know them better. It’s also a time for remembering those who didn’t live long enough to celebrate their 50th or maybe even their 25th, or in a few cases, their 10th reunions. It’s a time for memories, and for thanksgivings, and yes, even some “what if’s".

I’ve been registered on Classmates.com for several years, and it’s amazing to watch the increasing number of familiar names appearing on the list. People I hadn’t thought about in years, and I remember them now with fondness. I’m looking forward to see them all again. The six years of junior and senior high school—ages ~12-18—are arguably the most crucial years in our lives. The teen years are full of all manner of angst, wonder, fears, joys, emotional swings, and of course, bursts of hormones that seem uncontrollable. We put aside the ways of elementary school—we are “big kids” now that we change classrooms in junior high. We carry books home, we form our “packs” complete with the alphas, betas, and omegas of every pack. Until the time we graduate, our world is lived with this large group of people who matter to us. We make choices—who our friends are, who we shun (unfortunately), who we eat lunch with, who we choose for our teams. We begin in earnest to figure out who we are and where we fit in and where we think we want to be. And overall, to quote Mr. Dickens, “it was the best of times; it was the worst of times.”

The actual reunion events are in August, and I shall be there. But during the last month or so, I have already experienced three reunions with former classmates.

I have a friend in Buffalo with whom there has been an estrangement for almost 20 years. I can’t remember why; I remember disagreements, but there had to have been more. I love this former friend no matter what, and perhaps she feels the same about me. I phoned her over a month ago and we spoke a bit, but I haven’t phoned her back. Do I fear rejection? I wasn’t rejected when I phoned before, so why would she reject me now? I need to call her again.

There’s another woman I knew peripherally in high school, and when we met again at our informal 20th reunion in 1979, she and I found each other to be kindred spirits in several ways. Over the following decade, we saw each other briefly and infrequently, as we lived in different cities. But we maintained irregular contact over the years—a Christmas card here, the rare phone call there. She lives now in Southern California and I’m in San Jose. She called me when she had to put down her beloved horse—perhaps her best friend over those 19 years of his life. The weekend before last I went to visit her, our first encounter in well over 20 years. I’m embarrassed to count up the hours we talked and talked and talked—we told our stories that began in high school and continued until the present, and we even tiptoed into discussing our future as single and aging women. She has struggled with breast cancer, this dear friend, and is as upbeat and cheerful as ever; her smile alone would convert a curmudgeon.

In high school, our homerooms were assigned alphabetically. Having the last name Woodward, I was in the last group, and the only room available was the wood shop. Boy, did we luck out! We had the smallest homeroom (and the wonderful scent of wood), full of W’s, Y’s, Z’s, and a few stragglers who must have been new to the school. One of the boys, “Z”, was the shyest boy, but he was cute and something attracted me. For some reason I don’t remember, I was pretty sure he sorta liked me, too, but, as I said, he was shy. One time, perhaps from a basketball game, or dance (would he have even gone to a dance?), he walked me home, and we stood for a long time on the sidewalk in front of my house. Who knows what those two 15-16 year olds talked about? School? Dreams? Future? I saw him briefly at the 25th reunion, and he called me after that. But only once, and I didn’t see him again. A month or so ago, one of the reunion organizers emailed me and said that “Z” had asked her if she knew how to contact me. She wrote me with his contact information and asked if she had my permission to give him mine. Yes! Of course, my answer was yes. “Z” and I have twice had fairly lengthy phone conversations, and I’ve enjoyed them both. We have led very different adult lives, he and I, and our world views are quite different. But I still look forward to seeing him in August. We never forgot about each other. We still care.

More to come.