In today’s world of political divisions, mean-spirited lies and angry tirades, people need a distraction from the resounding echo of doom. People need to let loose — dance, sing and have a good time. I am one of those people, so this past weekend, I joined the Central High School Class of ’79 for their class reunion to dance, sing and have a downright good time.
Even though younger generations have nearly forgotten the loyalty to their alma mater through five-year reunions, some (very) mature high school graduates still treasure the five-year tradition and, therefore, honor both school and youthful relationships with a gathering of yearbooks and memories. High school reunions are so much fun because these reunions bring together friend and foe in a lighthearted atmosphere of shared recollections and shocking discoveries — especially when the reunions are years between years, and those attending have ..
. ummm ..
. transformed themselves — in the expanding middle, the thinning of hair and the wrinkling of skin around eyes and mouth (not to mention the drastic whitening of hair). Consequently, name tags are always a good suggestion at reunions just so the foot does not slip into the mouth at the most inopportune moments.
So off I went with camera in hand to the class of ’79. Oh, I know! Since I am years younger than the 1979 graduate Billy French, who just had another birthday to add to his more than six decades, there is no way a young babe like me could actually be a class member, but I like to go because these alumni throw a truly fantastic party. You see, I only get invited because I arrive with camera in hand, ready to snap a photo of just about any attendee, even those who are determined not to have a photo snapped.
Capturing all those five-year transformations, this exclusive photography comes at no cost to the seniors (in age — not class rank) who dodge every click of the shutter and grimace at every flash of the bulb. Unfortunately, the camera catches only what it sees and, therefore, is unable to reverse those five years of transformation. But those five years of transformation most definitely erase all those silly childhood dramas.
Gone are all those things that created teenage boundaries because after decades, those arriving at the reunion party understand the significance of every relationship and treasure the moments where all differences are cast aside, creating the simple luxury of reuniting and crafting new friends from familiar (and old) faces. Reunions — really of any sort — prompt us to value the priceless gift of human connections, the invaluable art of storytelling, the irreplaceable reward of good and bad memories, and the treasure of friendships, both new and old. Good grief, now that I have thought about my class reunion’s success, I am quite sure that the United States needs to have a reunion like the Class of ’79 — just get together to loudly sing and downright dance all night, transforming those divisions into harmony and equanimity.
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