But since retiring, I've encountered reunions of a different sort. One was connecting on line with an old army buddy that I hadn't seen for 30 years. We met for a lunch and were able to pick up our conversation more or less where we left off in the 80s. And since he's local, I hope to see more of him. We knew each other through some interesting times in our lives, and I enjoy hearing about what he has done in his life since we lost track of each other.
Another example was getting into a semi-regular bowling thing about a year ago with an old colleague that had retired before me and with whom I hadn't had much contact for several years. I had hired into the IRS with this person in 1972. And though our respective outlooks on life have always been miles apart, and our careers took decidedly different paths, that early common experience of breaking into work life together still defines our personal relationship, which is one of trusted peers. I haven't seen this person for the last few months, but I think about him often and look forward to hunting him up in the near term and resuming our friendship in between blown spares and baby splits.
The thing about reunion for me is this. When it happens, I feel the drive gear - in which we spend most of our everyday lives - quietly slipping into neutral, nudged by a natural curiosity. I've always liked to freeze time and revisit pleasant moments from the past, and have written about it often in this blog. But this is different. Reunion is about accessing what others remember about you and sharing what you remember about them. In this light I've found that my most significant reunion experiences since retirement have been about high school. And that's where I'd like to go in this post.
Let's rewind for a minute, and take it from the beginning. In September of 2010, I attended my 45th high school reunion in Bay City. It was sort of a last minute decision. I was puttering around my lab, doing those little everyday things we all do (filing away new media purchases, updating control listings, refilling magic markers), when I received a phone call. It was from an old classmate who was trying to confirm that I was the Charles Burk who graduated with the Bay City Handy Class of 1965. I think she or another may have found my name on Facebook. Not really sure, and I've never had the presence of mind to ask. But I did confirm for her that I was the person she was seeking.
She then informed me that the class was holding their 45th reunion in a few weeks and asked if I would be interested. At that time I was still gainfully employed but thinking about and planning for retirement. It occurred to me that getting reacquainted with one's past might be the sort of thing people do in retirement. So I said yes. A few weeks later, I walked through a doorway to my past that I have since propped open permanently.
I initially thought that I would see many of my old friends at that 45th reunion. And while I did see a number of people that I remembered, none of my very closest friends were there. The ones that were in most of my classes. That I went to football and basketball games and school dances with. The ones that got me in and out of trouble. And knew everything about me. At least as much as you can know about a teenager who really hasn't figured out who he is.
At first, I was a little disappointed, but there were bright spots. One was seeing a few classmates that lived right down the street from me and catching up with them on neighborhood developments. Another was seeing a couple of women with whom I double dated a lot, and sort of had "friendship" crushes on. In other words, they were either already going steady (a major status in '60s culture) with one of my buddies, or - in terms of the inevitable high school caste system - were just out of my league (I was in the nerd caste - brief case, slide rule, but never a pocket protector; I was a cool nerd).
Fast forward four years to the fall of 2014. Suspecting that plans might be in process for a 50th reunion, I contacted the chair of the reunion committee and volunteered my time to help with preparations. As the committee was always willing to accept new blood, I was welcome. It was joining with them on committee work that led to an epiphany - it was possible that I had more in common with those who still enjoy preserving high school memories than I had with those I spent the most time with in high school.
I hadn't given up on getting more of my formerly close high school friends to our next reunion, but I was having a great time working with the committee members and getting to know them much better than I did in high school. In someways we're a survivors club. The cliques are gone, as are the teenage angst and awkward relationships. We are bound together by the fact that we are still here as much as we are by what we did together long ago.
As a committee member, one of my tasks was creating name tags for attendees that included their high school senior pictures. It was fun pouring through the yearbook, reacquainting myself with those images, trying to resurrect a memory for each one. How well had I known him or her? Did we have classes together? Were we connected in some way that I had forgotten? And in case you're interested, here is the image that people were starting with when they were trying to remember me. I haven't really changed that much, right? Except for the Princeton haircut, it's still me.
For most, I was able to reconstruct what I thought my relationship with him or her had been. But for some I had no memory at all, which I thought weird. How unobservant could a young, searching mind be? Then I remembered just how much of high school was about oneself. Who could we claim as friends? What social groups could we crack? How much horse play could we get away with, and would others think we were interesting? About the only time this inward focus was disrupted was when an overbearing parent or teacher insisted that some attention be given to actually graduating. So I was able to rationalize that a reasonably bright and socially outgoing fellow might still miss a face or two out of a class of nearly 600.
Our 50th reunion was finally held in August of 2015 and by all accounts was a huge success. Attendance was very good (over 100 classmates, 179 total with guests). It was a formal event with a sit-down banquet, several speakers, a raffle of mid-60's memorabilia, oldies music wafting across the room, and a creative group photo taken in the foreground of the city skyline from a drone camera. For the record, here is that picture. I'm the guy in the blue shirt in the back row about a third of the way in from the right. No Princeton.
I was lucky in that more of my closer high school friends made this reunion than made the 45th. It was great to see them. As the evening unfolded and in contacts I've had with them since, it has become clear that these old classmates have the power to reveal pieces of my past that I can't access on my own. They remember things I did in those roller coaster teen years that I had totally forgotten.
Reliving old times with old friends has been remarkably cool. Despite being trapped in an organic lock box for five decades, those memories are still vibrant. They emerge in full force with surprising clarity, and with their original emotional "soundtrack" intact. I don't just remember those old experiences. I feel them. And that's something I did not expect but have learned to appreciate. I can only hope that the next time around, even more of my former classmates decide to join in.
Being in the old spaces was also haunting. Part of the 50th reunion weekend was a tour of the refurbished Thomas Lincoln Handy, our former high school (which due to today's smaller student population has been reassigned as a middle school). The building has a new gym, a new pool, an expanded library and a new administration wing. But, the floors and halls and stairways still retain their old personality. One spooky part of the tour was the old gym which has been preserved as it was in the 60s. Tight spaces, concrete seating, the shiny wooden floor. I remember gym classes, basketball games, sock hops and the occasional cross-your-legs-while-sitting-on-the-floor assembly in this timeless space. If only the walls could talk.
But the most interesting feature of my high school reunion experience is that it's still happening. It seems that the reopening of so many past memories is addictive. I want more. I'm not sure of just what I want more of. More memories from the past? More new experiences with people from my past? Or just more time enjoying the world that arises around me when I'm with old classmates. Could be all of those things. I haven't quite put my finger on it yet.
But, I do know that I look forward to and thoroughly enjoy attending when I can the luncheons a core group of old classmates hold in Bay City each month. And since the 50th reunion, the luncheon group seems to be growing, with the occasional new old classmate joining in (supporting this phenomenon is the fact that a high percentage of class members still live in the Bay City area). So each luncheon has the potential to be a very personal, rewarding reunion experience in itself. You just can't get that everywhere.
Well, I think you get the idea. I like reunions. So I'll end here. I hope that if any of you have high school reunions coming up in your calendar that you take the time to attend. You might come away with something you didn't realize you were missing.
Grosse Pointe Chuck
