Summertime Class Reunions

A red, white, and blue “Welcome Back Class of ‘76!” banner hung over the double doors of a large banquet room. Photo name tags were on the table just before the entry way. I quickly found my high school face among the others yet to arrive.  

My stomach knotted up as I looked around for friendly faces. It had been ten years since I’d seen most of my classmates. Suddenly I was once again the shy kid in elementary school, reluctant to say or do anything. I held my husband Tom’s hand.

 

This was supposed to be the beginning of our career phase of life, but I didn’t have a whole lot to show for it. Some of us had married, others not yet. I could see friends sharing pictures of little kids. I didn’t make my way around the room to visit; I remained frozen at a table. I remembered who I’d been in high school and felt awkward even ten years later. Tom urged me to mingle while he snapped photos of people he’d just met.

 

When Tom and I went to his twenty-year high school reunion a decade later, it was far different. Everyone casually moved around enjoying quiet conversations. My husband hadn’t seen many of his friends in years, but these nearly forty-year-olds were once little kids growing up together. They reflected on their past while catching up on where they’d been. After two decades it didn’t seem to matter who had been popular—an equality had set in.

 

Our classmates were once part of the fabric of our lives—they were with us in our beginnings—when those fabric threads were just starting to create a unique design in our lives.

 

Whether it’s a class reunion, or a smaller gathering of friends, it’s a special chance to grab those fabric threads and continue weaving them together. It becomes our own personal tapestry. Eventually, that tapestry covers us with some awesome lifelong friendships. 


Popular posts from this blog

Dreaming the Dream

Image
Dreaming big dreams about the future is easy for kids. The only thing standing in the way is time.  Kid’s dreams are not about skills, or opportunities, or even practicality. Those things come much later.  My grandson hopes to be professional soccer player when he grows up. This week, a small piece of his dream came true when his Boys and Girls Club was invited to participate in pre-game activities with the Seattle Sounders Football Club.  He got to suit up in a real jersey and walk on the field with a real pro player. Imagine a young soccer player looking up to who he hopes to be one day. If you haven’t taken the time to talk to a child about their future dreams—you should.  They believe. As we get older we sometimes forget that dreams fuel our hopes—and that's something we all need. So, do you still dream? Or have you left those childhood thoughts behind?  S pending time with children will  inspire you to believe agai
Read more

Wild or Tame? Which One Are You?

Image
Finally! Research that explains why I act the way I do. Columbia University’s Motivational Science Center studied people’s activities and what brought them the most happiness. Even more telling were how those activities changed as they aged. Twenty-somethings tend to equate happiness with high-energy activities. Words like excited and ecstatic are usually attached to spontaneous things—even risky things—and living life full throttle.  Researchers labeled this Promotion Motivation —the urge to take chances, including career moves that may not work out. Happiness comes from happenings—the more happenings, the more happiness. By age forty, adults associate happiness with things running smoothly at work and home. It’s also about feeling secure in relationships. Keeping healthy matters more too. This behavior is called Prevention Motivation —and people are more concerned with preserving and maintaining the things they value. It appears that time ofte
Read more

The Quiet Dad

Image
After my granddaughter’s gymnastics, she’d always ask to go to the park next door—even in the winter. When you’re a high energy child, cold is relative. Our routine seemed to overlap with a dad and his son. I’d watch them as I watched my granddaughter go through her favorite activities—crossbar, swings, spinner, and the curly slide.  But the dad was not doing the same. He’d go hand-in-hand with his boy—pointing to trees, clouds, and the texture of the grass. I could see they were in a different place—one of sights, smells, and feels.   His son didn’t speak, so the father spoke into the silence around them. Since it was winter, the park was quiet—just the four of us—an energetic girl, and a boy who experienced the park in a way I never had.   We were at the same place, but in different worlds.    I saw a father’s love for his son expressed in quiet words of exploration. Never once did his son use the swing or try the crossbars. His world was spent touching tree bark and looking a
Read more