Reunion....Whatever happened to the class of 1965??

Fifty years.  Fifty. Years.  Combine those words and you give recognition to a big chunk of time that should have produced a great deal of wisdom just with it's passing.  At least that's what l'd like to think.

At the end of my senior year in high school in 1965 I was poised to take on life and everything it had to throw at me.  I was eighteen years old, worldly and indestructible.  Drawing on my huge storehouse of wisdom I had chosen my life partner at the age of fourteen; now we were getting married to start our great adventure together.  With no clear goals in mind, I worked part time in the boys department at Montgomery Ward stuffing chubby little boys into pants labeled "Husky".  After surviving high school without any great accomplishments or upsets, I didn't know what I didn't know.  Now, in September of 2015, I was driving to my 50th high school reunion to re-visit those days. 

In spite of the fact that my husband had just had back surgery the week before, and I was sporting a huge leg brace to keep my newly acquired hip in place, we persevered.  The registration line stretched out the restaurant doors and onto the sidewalk.  As Larry and I stood waiting I mentally superimposed senior class pictures over faces, struggling to recognize my former classmates through the lens of our fifty year separation.   Some looked very old (gosh, do I look that old, too?)...some looked unwell (This darned brace makes me look pathetic!)...some looked pretty darned good ( shoot, I didn't look that good fifty years ago!)...but no one looked familiar.

I must admit I've kept up with only a few people since  graduation.  I've connected with more of my classmates on Face Book than I ever did in the halls and classes of my alma mater.  I was not the Homecoming Queen, or a cheerleader, nor did I sit in the "M Section" or work on the school paper or yearbook.  In fact I didn't engage in any extra curricular activities that might have marked my high school years as "the best years of my life"  Instead of being a joiner I marched to my own drum  accompanied by a smattering of friends and acquaintances who, like me, kept busy going to school days and working nights and weekends.

Like every high school student I was aware of the cliques:  the rich kids, the pretty/popular girls, and the tough kids who were always in trouble for smoking (gasp) across the street from the school.  The rich kids lived in big houses and went south for spring break.  The pretty girls had perfect eye brows and porcelain skin.  They wore angora sweaters, circle pins and dated football players.  The tough kids glowered intimidatingly from under their grey cloud of cigarette smoke and kept to themselves.  The much less obvious group I fit into was often awakened in the night by the clackity-clack of a train; the tracks ran through our back yards and we lived on the wrong side of them.  We mostly just felt invisible as we went about doing our educational duty.

I guess that feeling of invisibility is one reason I found it fascinating to peek in on this fifty year "fast forward".  As the evening progressed it was obvious some of my classmates had become doctors, lawyers or Indian chiefs, while others worked day to day and seemed happy just to have made it to retirement age.  As youngsters many of these people possessed advantages and talents that others of us did not, but fifty years later drive and tenacity seem to have played just as well for many of the class.  As for me, I turned my desire to be 'on the radio' into a broadcast career that covered thirty six years and kept me from having to get a real job.  At the end of the night I didn't walk away from the reunion with an epiphany, just the quiet thought that time and effort are great equalizers.

My old yearbook, The Manhigan, is a moment of time frozen between leatherette covers.  There aren't a lot of opportunities for us to see how things turned out for so many people, but a fifty year class reunion is just that.  I didn't talk to everyone I'd have liked to, but I left that gathering with the hope that all of them have enjoyed this fifty year ride as much as I have.

It didn't happen without a lot of work and a good dose of struggle, but the marriage that started when I was eighteen has somehow lasted fifty years.   My husband and I have watched our three amazing kids become three amazing adults who now manage their own careers, kids, and chaos.  It's all been worth it, and it ain't over till the fat lady sings.
 
I bet there were a lot fascinating stories in that room last month and I truly wish I could have heard them all.  Having said that I know one thing...I wouldn't trade places with any of them.  Long live the class of '65.

                                                           Life is Good