Today Earl and I head west to St. Louis, Mo, so that I can commune with members of my grade school graduating class of 1957. It’s our fourth annual event. How many of you can say you’ve ever even attended a grade school reunion?
You don’t have to raise your hands. I figured . . .
I’m not sure what the essential ingredient is in our getting together even though most of us didn’t keep in touch through the decades. Was it the crazy glue that bonded us back then? Was it the passage of time and the sense of mortality? Was it the persevering efforts of Carol, the graduate who really pulled this together for four years running?
Not that it matters. We’ve come together the past four years, finding more graduates and mourning the passing of others. In all, we’ve spent eight days together as opposed to every day in eighth grade.
So we reminisce about the old days and learn about what we’re doing now. Most of us are retired, and most of us have health issues. About half of us are married to our original spouses, while others have divorced and remarried. We’re a microcosm of American society.
Except we’re still in touch after more than fifty years.
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