August 4, 2013
High School was
not fun for many people and yet, by the 35th Reunion,
we should all be over it by now. About 120 participants had drinks then dinner
together, scoured through the annual to find funny photos of ourselves, and
classmates who were not in attendance. Who wasn’t a bozo in High School,
teasing one another mercilessly and thinking we had it all figured out. Life
was a piece of cake.
Long, firm hugs
from old friends, who see one another far too infrequently. Passed by the
neighborhood, where I spent a lot of my growing up years. The family house seemed
so small and insignificant, innocent and weighted with memories that barely
scratched the surface, yet come barreling down from the depths, to take me by
surprise. Mom’s ashes are buried under the cherry tree in the front yard.
I recall walking
my friend, Sharon, to the corner, splits the journey between our two houses,
after dark. We made many batches of rice crispy treats after school, drilling
one another for the following day test or laughing about the stupid boys we
liked, who never seemed to know we existed. Diane and I spent years dividing
our time between our respective family homes as well.
After all of these
years, since first grade, we still honor one another for our birthdays, three
of us, one day after the next, in May. Though the visits are many more years
apart, I will always think of them on their particular celebratory day. We
shared so much, those many back yard sleepovers, stretches of afternoons and
fun-filled weekends. The conversations are very different now, no one worries
about being kissed, or which sibling is a pain in the neck. We can be together,
over bagels and juice, and know that we matter to one another. Always will.
No comments:
Post a Comment