Old Times Sake

Guess we've all been invited to school reunions and suffered the usual angst before entering. Worries about appearance and what to say and who would be there make the experience less than a joy to anticipate. As part of the planning committee, I was able to enter it gently. My job was to put together the updated yearbook. When all found were contacted, they sent me their photos and autobiographies to be entered into the latest book.  Receiving each one was the best feeling in the world. Sadness was great on learning about those who had died. Remembering, in this way,  our comparatively small class of nearly one hundred, became a personal journey as well. Our neighbourhood was slightly class-oriented with a professional, management and worker area. But somehow, it didn't mean anything to us as teens. We loved our town and our school and each other for the most part. Social class or money was not necessarily a factor unlike it is now. We dated together, most on an innocent basis, and went downtown to meet and greet, only a few blocks from our homes. There we hung around the favorite cafe, worked our after-school jobs and went to the movies. Our large park gave us skating, tennis and ball games. We had our  rivalries, romances, studies, friendships and family fun. In those days, you decided "what to be" and headed right into a future you planned.It seems easy in view of today's insecurities.  But for now, the reunion, likely the last one, was imminent and the past was forced to meet the present and all of its realities. At the reunion, I handed out the memory booklet and  was constantly being amazed. While their frames had changed, the persons inside, had not. The shy, the bold, the roue, the vixen, the chatty, the obnoxious, the sad, the rich, the homely, the handsome were recognizable.  But what each had made of his and her lives was surprising. The valedictorians were not the great successes, the shy retiring kids had become very accomplished, the beauties had faded while the plain  were now attractive especially in there new vibrancy. At dinner, groups clung to their old friends and sat with them. There was laughter and tales,  revelations and jolly apologies. It felt like retribution rather than a reunion! When it was all over, we had caught up with ourselves and could move on into old age content that our pasts had indeed been what we were if not what we dreamed. And that although our lives were usually smaller than we had hoped, we  travelled far.  Our  dreams once brightly coloured, were now  shadowed warm Rembrandt tones reminding us of the truly good old days and what a lifetime means.