I will confess that by the time I emailed my previous column about my upcoming 40th high school reunion, I was ready to buy the ticket. Writing down the reasons why I might or might not go made me realize how curious I was to see who showed up, and what it would be like to see faces I hadn’t seen in four decades. I appreciated the emails I received from some of you who read the column and took the time to encourage or, in one case, discourage me from going.
I sent a rough draft of my column to a couple of friends up north (the two who refused to go), and while they said they enjoyed reading it, it didn’t change their minds. But they did agree to a brunch debriefing the next day, to see the photos and catch up on any good stories they’d missed by skipping it.
Minnesota in early June steals my heart. As much as I love the beauty of Prescott, a part of me still longs to see lakes and rivers everywhere and vibrant green lawns covered in shady oak and maple trees. I put a lot of miles on the rental car, zipping around to see friends and family. Sometimes I’d pull over to snap photos of lakes spanning both sides of the roadway and the giant irrigation sprinklers watering the corn and soybeans. One of my reunion naysayers invited me to stay at her house for a night. We got up early to kayak on the chain of lakes where she now lives, launching from the dock of her property. Loons were floating and diving, a few fish jumped for bugs before splashing back into the lily pads, and I saw a couple of painted turtles basking in the sun.
And maybe because I was already filled with nostalgia and surrounded by all the beauty of the summer day, I wasn’t nervous as I pulled into the long driveway of the home where our reunion was being held, parked my car in the field and walked toward the big barn and patio filled with classmates I hadn’t seen in person for 20 to 40 years. We laughed and talked and caught up on who was doing what now. Sometimes I’d have to glance at a nametag before I recognized someone or whisper to the person next to me: “who is that guy in the green golf shirt and black shorts talking to Laura by the bar?” followed by “oh yeah, Jeff, okay, now that you say that, I recognize him.” We posed for a group shot alongside the pool at our host’s house, and I stood in the back row, just like every yearbook photo I was in. Some things never change.
But what has changed in forty years is how many of us have lost people we love: friends, parents, spouses, siblings, children. A slideshow from our high school days looped continuously on the wall during the event, with photos of classmates who have since died mixed in, a reminder that not everyone has the privilege to reach the age we are now. Some of us are dealing with health challenges or elderly parents. A good friend from my childhood shared that her mom has dementia. Another classmate lost her mom the day before, but still managed to join us.
It turns out my column was forwarded to a few other friends, one of whom told me she could relate to it because she also felt anxious about attending. This surprised me because I considered her one of the most popular, outgoing girls in our class. I wouldn’t have guessed she’d be worried about showing up. But high school, like life, is filtered through our own views of the world. Sometimes it’s hard to see what other people’s challenges and fears are because we’re so busy worrying about our own.
I’m so glad l took the time to go. Everyone was friendly and kind, even if it was just a quick hello in passing. And while our lives have taken many different paths and I may never see some of these folks in person again, I’m glad to know they are out there in the world, doing all the good stuff we could barely imagine we’d be doing when we walked across that high school stage to receive our diplomas. Like we used to