Where Has the Time Gone?

Lucky for me I have been keeping my ear to the ground and got a heads up.  I empathize with those who won’t get the word until a week or so before the big event, although to be a day late and a dollar short on knowledge might be a tangible excuse for 30 years of hard living.  The few of us who have been allowed into the inner sanctum of awareness will have to rely on Mother Nature and a bit less chocolate to ready ourselves for the… class reunion.

In 8 short months, classmates and teachers from the Northmont class of ’76 will descend upon the school and surrounding villages where our social conscience, fashion sense and a penchant for toilet papering the unsuspecting on Thursday nights, all began.  Three decades will magically disappear and we will quickly regress back to our youth.  You cannot pull the wool over these peoples’ eyes – they know who you are and where you came from – literally.  Pretenses will be thrown to the side and hopefully so will the cliques that seemed like the life-blood of our younger days.

I can’t wait to see all the “kids”.  I have been to a couple of these gatherings, albeit 20 years ago, and everyone seemed rather firm, fit and happy in their chosen paths.  Give or take a few pounds, a more “mature” look and a few less strands of hair, these were the same people; my comrades and survivors of geometry, five paragraph themes and the dreaded PE uniform.  The biggest challenge we faced during high school, in a small town in the middle of the cornfields of Ohio, was if we were going to hang out at the ice cream /fish tackle/animal feed/hardware emporium (they were all the same place), cruise the mall or watch the submarine races (hmmm, at least that’s what we went looking for).  Big choices back then.

The reality of today is that inside I am like the same 16 year old of yesteryear, but put a mirror in front of me and YIKES! It is hard to explain, but I don’t feel like I look.  Does that make any sense? Although the “natural” blondeness is still in tact, the crinkles near the eyes, the voluptuousness of an overlooked food pyramid and the hands of my mother reflect back.  After this shock of reality and with the age of 50 within reach, I must admit I have had a darn good life.

I think I am going to help get the word out to the other members of the class of ’76 and let them know to “come as you are” and forget the formalities.  I know that some of us will try to loose a few stubborn pounds, get the hair just so and try to recapture what, at least we thought, we were way back when.  But the reality is if we have endured this long, some through pretty tough circumstances and big odds, we should be happy to just be able to see each other, bask in each others’ accomplishments and laugh about some of us having grandchildren (can we be that old?).  This is one weekend where vanity should be pushed aside and the gratitude of old friends brought forward and celebrated.  I just pray that on our “Hello my name is” labels a picture from high school and maiden names are included… just in case it isn’t obvious at first glance.

I am already prepping my child that high school is going to be one of the best times of his life and to enjoy every minute.  The other thing I need to tell him is to remember the little, somewhat trivial and not always funny-at-the-time, things; they will come in handy for future reference (one of your class mates may end up a candidate for the supreme court – it could happen) and at class reunions.  But probably the best thing I can pass on to him, other than not to bring your spouse to such events, is to value the friendships and laughter… absolutely priceless.

Cynthia A. McClelland, curious observer of the obvious with interpretations of the oddities of daily life.  Mother, wife and lover of the furry, resides in the north Lake Tahoe area.

Cynthia A. McClelland © 2003-