As a journalist, I had the privilege of interviewing many people for newspaper articles and the two books I wrote about Germans from Russia. Most interviewees begin by saying, “I have nothing to say that anyone would want to listen to.” By the end of the interview, they would say, “Thank you so much for helping me remember things I haven’t thought about for years.”
This brings me to this past weekend and my 50th class reunion. It was so much fun. I thought about things I hadn’t thought about for years.
We didn’t do much more than visit and laugh and remember. I had my doubts about attending. For some reason, I had lost any connections to these peers until recently. I wasn’t sure I liked these people, but I quickly changed my mind. In fact, they were such nice people, I wish I had gotten to know them better back in the day — the foibles of youth.
Some of the memories shared I remembered, but most of them were shadows in my mind replaced with more current events. I have my own set of memories with strong feelings associated, some private memories.
We all marveled at the class will and wondered, “What were we thinking?” It takes a few years outside of graduation to come into our strengths and weaknesses. Nothing even close to what we thought about ourselves in high school.
Then, there was a class prophecy story. I cringed and hoped that it was not a product of my imagination — although I did do some writing in high school, I was never encouraged to become a writer. I swore they were reading the wrong copies of both those 50-year-old documents. (Sorry Corine and Brenda.)
Besides being the photographer for the yearbook, I was a drama queen. As we perused the many yearbooks (yes, one of our classmates had all 12 of them. On the other hand, I had not entered their class until the sixth grade. It was a difficult transition from Fredonia to Gackle, as I remember — 12 is a tough age.) I saw many photos of myself in extracurricular activities. If we had been a better yearbook staff, we would have written more notes about what was happening in those photos.
One thing we tried to remember was the name of a three-character play with me and two guys. We got the cast correct. We performed in a state competition, but we could not remember how we did. It must have not been that great if it didn’t leave an impression. The yearbook photos, however, made it look like we were having a good time.
Another topic of conversation was good teachers and bad teachers. We pretty much agreed on those memories.
We bypassed the cheerleading memories and moved on to the high school sweethearts married 50 years in the next year or two. Wow, I cannot imagine.
I recall the feeling of a first crush, dancing in someone’s basement for the first time as a middle schooler. It was a heart-pounding, face-flushed, apprehensive moment. A moment that left a lasting impression on me. Once in high school, I didn’t date much. If you were at my dad’s funeral, you may recall the conversation about how everyone was afraid of him, so I wasn’t asked out on very many dates.
As far as the city goes, it has changed so much. People are gone, churches have been demolished (including the theater), strangers have moved into abandoned houses, and the once-thriving Main Street now has a few retail stores, a bank, and a bar.
So, like these memories, everything has faded, but I am so thankful for the opportunity to dredge up moments and feelings and simpler times with these folks who I now consider to all be my friends. I appreciate their comments and their prayers for my health.
PS: Thanks to the class president, Ron, who delegated the duties of planning this reunion to Elaine, Brenda, and Corinne. I hope they don’t wait another 50 years to plan another gathering. I was thinking, maybe five years or sooner.
INDYchildrendotme 
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