This weekend I went with my
Mom to her Alumni Banquet. Class of ’55. There were over fifty people there. We
met in the cafeteria of the new high school. Each table had flowers on it and tablecloths
in the school colors – either orange or black.
The featured classes were those years that ended with a 9. There was a man from the Class of 1949. Maybe 8 people
from the class of 1959, my uncle being one of them. And then anyone who
graduated from the high school filled the rest of the tables.
It was a homecoming of
sorts.
Before the banquet, Mom and I went
to the old high school which has been made into a museum. They have done an
amazing job. I was so glad to share this afternoon with my Mom – such a privilege to go back in time
with her.
Watching the interactions of
old classmates was like watching these people become school kids again. Remembering teachers,
places, sleep-overs, bus rides. Some still remembered basketball games and
baseball games, classmates who could not make it or have gone ahead to heaven.
Something about being there
lingers with me.
I can’t really put my finger on it. Maybe since I was included
in their revelry, I became a
part of a time long ago and a place since past.
