Class Reunion

It was like being in a time machine. This past weekend I went to my thirty year high school class reunion. About 15 of my classmates showed up, which was just about half of my class. We were the class of 1976, a bunch of farm kids that knew very little about life beyond the Ozark hills. Most of the kids I graduated with I also started first grade with. After being with them for twelve years little did I know that moving the tassle truly would mean moving on. Except for my best friend that I went to college with, I never saw any of them again until last Saturday night. Five of us went to college, a few of us moved away and the rest stayed closed to home. Most quit raising hell and started raising kids.

It was very strange to talk about retirement with an old friend when the last conversation I had had with him was about what his plans were now that high school was finally over.

One friend had died of cancer. One had lost his wife in an accident at home. Two had fried their brains on drugs. The wildest and most rebellious girl in class now worked for the Secret Service. The class nerd had his own computer company (duh!) and the one who loved his pickup now loved his big rig. My best friend is a Psycholigist (I would like to take credit for getting him started) and I still haven't quite figured out what I am. No, I know what I am I am just not sure about what I do most days.

I wasn't prepared for my fourth grade girlfriend to show me pictures of her grandkids.

We ended up at Applebees, watching the Cards win game one and telling old stories of what excellent, peaceable students we had all been. We asked about the ones who didn't come and why they probably didn't. I was reminded of how poor most of us were, some of the kids in my class actually lived in homes with dirt floors and it was great to hear that they had managed to do well despite the odds. And it was also good to be together and not care at all about the former distinctions that in high school seemed so important. Time washes us like a stream, cleansing us while muddying us at the same time.

I drove home around midnight on an old familiar road. It was rainy and my headlights caused the fall foilage to gleam red and yellow like a blur of neon. A nice buck crossed the road ahead, clearing the fence with that wonderful, effortless grace that always amazes me. I put in the Eagles and cranked up "Take it Easy" and then "Take it to the Limit". I realized that somewhere between the two we, the class of '76, had found our way.