Mile Posts and Memories

June is halfway through the calendar year and marks the semester end for most local schools. For high school seniors it also marks a rite of passage as they move out into the world.

My granddaughter's high school graduating class this year numbered almost 300 students. The stage was packed with students in caps and gowns, shoulder to shoulder and aching to get through the hour. Parents and family members in the audience could see rubber bands and spitballs soaring into the air among the back rows behind the speakers.

Never mind.

The messages delivered to graduates were punctuated by toots from a horn somewhere off in the distance.

No problem.

The highlight of the ceremony was the presentation of diplomas. Each student went through a receiving line to get the coveted award. Suddenly one chap pretended to trip over the Superintendent's feet crossing the stage and fell to the floor.

Splat!

There were shocked gasps in the audience. He clambered to his feet and continued on to accept his diploma and shake hands. Later we heard that there was a bet riding on the dare.

Ahh. Too much reality TV. Wait until these bright and talented youngsters get out into today's barren economic climate. We should applaud their spirit and shenanigans while we can.

Finishing up the week, I attended my fiftieth alumni gathering.

Truly, it does not feel like so many years have passed. Teetering now at the precipice of old age, the hard part is realizing how the present holds up that memory of yourself at the brink of adulthood. Passages. I sense canyon walls and buttressing arches looming over me, halfway to my goals, still struggling to climb up out into that clear blue sky.

I had planned for months to polish myself for those pals I hadn't seen in years...to lose twenty pounds, get a knock-out outfit, prep a resume like applying for a job.

What am I? Nuts?

I stopped to think. I came to the conclusion that since we had been a very small class, and spent our school years in an intimate context that just was not competitive, there should be no pressure to stand out because it would probably be enough just to show up. Thus relieved of guilt and inhibition, I sallied off in high spirits.

Possibly the best part of this weekend was the pre-banquet picnic we had in the middle of the day. It gave us time to mingle, show pictures and cover some of the intervening years. Our hostess and her husband did a great job providing a spread to keep things lively. Fifty years is a long time. People come with baggage and it takes a while to shed shyness. This was a great chance to let the old personalities shine through. The picnic definitely was a successful ice breaker and, by the time we went to dinner, we were relating like back in the 60's again.

As I headed to my car, one of my classmates asked,

"Hey, Barb. Would you like to see live fish in the back of my car?"

It was a blazing ninety degree day and I looked over at his wife who nodded. Everyone else was headed for hotel rooms and a shower and I could not imagine fish surviving for long in this weather.

"You have got to be kidding. I bet you have gold fish, like an aquarium?"

I followed my classmate and his spouse back to their car which was parked on the lawn under a shady tree. He moved to the rear of the car and opened the trunk. I did not know what to expect but my mind was searching possibilities trying to create a rational situation. I was expecting to see maybe plastic bags of gold fish from a pet store or the stuffed bass mounted on a plaque that sings a song when he is wound up. At any rate, I was in for a surprise.

He did indeed have live fish. Swimming in his trunk. Yep.

I looked down at a very large cooler filled with killies, minnows, bait fish that I was used to seeing in the shallows of White Lake or along tidal marshes of the Jersey shore. I couldn't get over it.

"We thought we might go fishing tomorrow before we headed home. This is a pretty good way to keep the bait, don't you think?" he said with a proud grin.

As he spoke, he lifted a small battery pump pack about the size of a Boy Scout canteen in the palm of his hand. Eight inches long, it fit nicely into the beverage side of the cooler and had plastic lines running through it that kept the killies' water aerated and cool. Neat.

As I changed my clothes for the banquet, I was already chuckling. I was enjoying myself.

Well, our gathering of alumni was warm and we were singled out for corsages because of our fifty year status. The air conditioning had been turned on the day before so the hall was thankfully cool. The food was better than last year and the cash bar reasonable. Everyone mingled with the classes that were represented without regard to specific years and the feeling of returning home, to home base, was the best of all. There was an air and uplift of good old fashioned optimism.

It was bittersweet to see alumni attending who were obviously dealing with infirmities, some greeted with glimmers of recall, some who were just pleased to be included...but realizing that the years take their toll and that our numbers are diminishing is just so sad. Our townships have moved on to a regional school system and our alumni organization is fading as members die off. It was like we are tacked to a bulletin board and, one by one, we come down until the board is bare.

The evening finished up with a disk jockey playing a nostalgic medley of do-wop and rock swing tunes. Watching those dancers swaying in the soft lighting was like the old sock hops all over again. It was the second time I heard Tennesee Waltz this week...the other at my Mom's nursing home. And that thought brought me full circle to thinking about going home. My present home.

Reflecting on the weekend, we had the usual work updates, retirement stories, yearbook albums, family pictures, but I have to say that the fish in the trunk beat everything.

Here's to the class of 2010. May they have the blessings and good fortune to get as far as we have.

People rock!