Forty Years

So, if you want to realize how old you really are, then go to your 40th high school reunion. Eeek! I keep saying that I still feel about 35 in my brain. (My feet, of course, are 102.) But, going to your high school reunion is a serious reality check. Yep...we're getting old.

One of the reality checks is my realization that when my parents were my age, I had decided that they were sooooo old that they didn't even have any way to relate to me. I was just so different from them. Now, I realize that they, too, were astonished at how quickly they'd turned into "old" people, and that they, too, felt about 35 in their brains, even though I'd always looked at them as "old" people. My dad died when he was 63 from leukemia and he'd gotten diagnosed finally at age 56, after feeling symptoms (but not knowing why he felt bad) for two years before that. So, I reflect on these things at age 58 and wish we had some way of knowing that no one is ever actually "old" in their own head, ever!

At the reunion, the mood was pleasant and festive. We were seriously happy to see one another. Ten of us have died since we left high school---a couple of those were within two or three years after graduation, tragically, but none of the others were less tragic. No one wants to lose young friends. Many of us married a classmate or someone who'd attended our small high school a year or two ahead or behind us.

 Quite a few in our group have always lived in the little valley where we grew up, but most moved somewhere else. Some of those moves were to earn a different living than our parents (many were farmers or ranchers) and some of those moves were to get away from the small-town scene. Some people married a person who preferred a different location. For me--weather is the big thing. When I discovered the joys of year-round summer, I never looked back.

I was amused to discover a new thing about myself when a guy I'd dated my senior year walked through the door with his just-married (2nd) wife. I was nervous to go greet him. I knew I'd been the mean one. Our relationship was one of convenience for me. I was in charge of a couple of clubs my senior year in high school, and we sponsored dances and other events, so I had to be there. I definitely didn't want to go alone. I knew this guy through mutual acquaintences and he was okay: he was taller than me, he had a car, and he'd said "Yes" when I asked him to the girl's choice dance in October. Excellent--I had myself an escort to all the significant senior year events: Homecoming, New Year's Eve dance, Prom, weekly after-basketball dances, etc. etc.

I know that he felt stronger about me than I felt for him. And yes, I used that to my advantage. He continued to pursue me after high school when I worked in a nearby resort town. He called me up and dated me during Christmas break when I was home from college. He wrote me letters while he served his mission. And I wrote back--I actually wrote letters to several high school friends while they served missions. However, his communication started to be more serious as he approached his release date, so I obliquely said that I'd be at home when he returned and I needed to talk to him in person. Of course by then, CoolGuy and I were planning our May wedding. This guy was due home at Easter.

Then he extended his mission by a few weeks. Oh. So, he got home the day before I got married, and came to our wedding reception still wearing his missionary name tag, accompanied by a mutual friend. Oh. That was uncomfortable. There was never an opportunity to tell him what it was I wanted to talk to him about (getting married--not to him). I just didn't want to be the "Dear John" of his mission. But, seriously, he was not, and never was, The One for me. I realized then that I was his (hopefully) One. Oh, well...

So, now, forty years later, we meet again. He's been married, divorced and remarried. I was so uncomfortable. He smiled and greeted me, introduced me to his wife. I stood there and smiled and greeted her. Then I said, "He took me to the prom when we were seniors." And he said, "Yes, I did, didn't I?" And then we both laughed, "Ha ha ha...so long ago." And quickly moved on to other topics and soon, other conversations with folks.

Later we had the chance to chat again, and I asked him where he lived and what he did, and we had a more comfortable conversation about current life. Isn't is bizarre that after forty years, I could feel embarrassed and nervous to talk about something that happened so long ago, was never resolved and now will not be discussed together ever again? 

So, when you look at "old" people, remember---it's just their bodies that are old. In their brains, they may feel like they felt when they were 18 or 19 or 35. Only our bodies age---nothing else.