You're HOW Old?

I can't believe how long it's been since I posted; I had to go back and re-read my last blog to understand how negligent I've been. In my own defense, I left for Louisville a few days after the last post, and I made the decision not to write while I was gone. I went south (not exactly--Louisville is actually north from here, but it feels like the South) and Michael went north, to Maine, the next day. Paranoia made me think I shouldn't divulge that we were both out of town at the same time. So sue me.

I went to my forty-fifth high school reunion yesterday afternoon. I missed the last four--and the sixtieth birthday party three years ago--for various reasons. Thus, it had been at least 25 years since I had seen almost every one of those people. The two I spent the most time with at the 20th reunion are both dead now; I wasn't sure what this one would be like, but I was determined to go.I had in my mind that now that we were all 63, the old insecurities would be gone, and I was right. At this point, who had held what job, who had gone to what college, who had made a lot or a little bit on money, who had maintained a physique and who hadn't, didn't seem to matter at all. People I barely talked to in high school, because we were in different classes or ran in different circles, came up to me, happy to see me, eager to know what I'd been up to. Girls who had been good friends were friendly, cordial, occasionally indifferent. Guys I wouldn't have spoken to in school out of awe or simple shyness were affectionate, animated. We talked about grandchildren, retirement, our parents, our future plans. We spent half an hour remembering the 24 (out of 175!) of our classmates who are dead now, and we tossed a wreath in the river in their memories. We ate crabs and hot dogs, drank beer and wine and soda, danced a little to an oldies band. Mostly, though, we talked, and talked, and talked. We talked to our classmates and we talked to their spouses or significant others. We joked about our common ailments and shared our happiness that we weren't among the twenty-four. We exchanged email addresses and phone numbers, urged people to sign up on Facebook
I don't think Michael really wanted to go; he never said that to me, but he acted as if he was fulfilling a duty as he got ready. In the car, he was angry because I didn't know the exact address or even which road to take to get to Dan and Ginger's estate--and I do mean estate--on the river outside of Cambridge. Not too long after we got there, however, Michael began to talk to people I introduced him to and then to a few of the people he knew already. I've often said he's never met a stranger, and that's pretty much how it went all evening. At the 20th reunion we were joined at the hip; yesterday we were apart more than we were together. Occasionally we would make eye contact, just to ensure that the other person was all right with the way things  were going. At one point we decided to leave, but then we were sidetracked by new people and conversations. For a little while, we just sat and looked out over the river, but then people came to us and the conversations started again.
All the way home Michael questioned me about this person and that one. What were they like in high school? Which one was he? What did so-and-so do after high school? Luckily, the reunion committee had put together a booklet with our senior portraits, our current names and addresses, and blurbs and photos that we sent in to update everyone. As Michael said this morning, "You would think it was my high school reunion considering how much I care about these people." We've both pored over the blurbs and photos and portraits, trying to put faces and names and memories together.
It was a good day. As I told several people last night, and as they told me in return, whether we stay in touch outside of these reunions doesn't really matter; what matters is that these were the people with whom we spent some of the best and some of the worst times of our lives. We shared early fun, teen angst, identity crises, little victories--unforgettable memories. And since each of us has his/her own memories, sharing them becomes an exercise in humility, revelation, and hilarity. There were few regrets, but there were some. There was an acknowledgment of the unforgivable bullying of one classmate and his total forgiveness of it.
Many of us acknowledged not being comfortable in high school, but all that was wiped out by our comfort with each other today. I couldn't be happier that I was there. I'll attend the fiftieth if I'm able, and I hope the 24 won't have grown, not even by one.