Reunions–Granfalloons Done Right

These people I felt so awkward around in high school, back in the early 70s? It turns out I really like them.  I was a late comer to their party. Most of them had been together since kindergarten, but I arrived at the beginning of my Junior year, having spent no more than two years in any one place since I started public school. They had been as welcoming as teenagers can be. Orono was not such a small place that a stranger in town attracted attention, and I lay low and was probably a bit prickly.

I know that I joined the youth group at our family’s church. I participated in a synchronized swimming group sharing rides with a couple of girls from my class. I attended a couple of dances, played ghost-in-the-graveyard on a couple of early summer nights, went on a couple of dates, passed notes, took a role in the Senior Play. In math class the back row was reserved for the nerdy kids who didn’t need to listen and got their homework done before class was over; I sat with that bunch. But by and large I remember myself as a loner. Our guidance counselor called me in to his office one time during my senior year and suggested that I give a pass on the whole academic thing and take an interest in the boys that were buzzing around waiting for me to look up from my books.

I am in wonder that I feel this kinship for this group of people from such a small part of my life. We’ve kept in touch, sometimes through jobs, more regularly through FaceBook. This was a half reunion. Our class does that when someone we haven’t seen for a long time comes to town, or to memorialize someone who’s passed, or just because. There are a lot of us who moved back to Maine, or who never left.

So  who are we, this class of OHS ‘72?

We 60.

We are empty nesters, or our kids have boomeranged back.

We have kids ranging from college age to their late early 40s. Some of us are grandparents, while others are not even in-laws.

Many of us are in education, or married to educators. One, who ended up as vice-principal at our high school, I’ve used as an example to rascally boys I have taught. (“You’re just the sort of kid who will end up being a VP.”) Two are doing a bit of team teaching across country as their classes learn about different regions.

We are caught between changing social schemes. We remember the days when teachers were respected, when the public had faith in us knowing our jobs. We understand the financial pressures as tax payers, but still regret that todays students miss the fun we had. “What kids learn in first grade, we didn’t get until well into third grade.” On the other hand tracking is formally gone, and it is easier to decide you will go to college after all.

A couple of us are digital natives (thank you CUPL, COBOL, punch cards), but we are all users. The number of digital phones, cameras, mini-tabs that got whipped out were amazing. Pictures were posted by the time I got home from the restaurant. One got told to stop checking email and put his phone away. I kept mine on buzz so I could tell when my son was ready to get a ride home.

We have mellowed. Although, just as in any family, the wise-guy got forced back into his he’ll-say-anything role, but unlike a family reunion no one truly flipped back to being five again. Everyone was a bit careful about the memories that got dredged up. I think this is, perhaps the true joy of these reunions. We are all familiar enough with each other’s large stories – jobs, families, homes, and the like – that we have a common language. The stories that come out are all about becoming re-acquainted.

At age 60, we approach people, jobs, and life differently. We are at ease with who we are. We have a clue about what we will become. We are familiar with living in our own skin, if not entirely comfortable. I will wager that we all know how we got to where we are. And if the road was not entirely pleasant, we own the bumps and our destination.