All Roads Lead Home

Days and years and then decades pass in the blink of an eye. I can remember it like yesterday. Those 110 young kids from a magical small Texas town scattered. Some of us could not wait to escape, to be free from the place where everyone knew everyone and there were no secrets. For good and bad, we were known. Some had no choice but to stay; others stayed because they had not figured out the next step. And others could not have imagined leaving. Regardless, our classmates scattered like dust in the West Texas wind as our school days ended.

Over the years, life has been hard. And good. And tragic. And beautiful. A few us cross paths for a moment. Happenstance or maybe planned. We have married and divorced, stayed single. We became parents, and grandparents, educators, bankers, coaches, business men and women, oil field workers, landmen, and holders of advanced degrees. We are no longer 110. Illnesses and accidents have claimed too many too soon.

One who stayed carries our hearts. Faithfully, each decade, she rallies her dependable few and somehow, they pull off a class reunion. At first, I was not even curious about my classmates. I was happy to exchange Christmas cards and meet up when I was in town visiting my family. My early high school days were idyllic. But through youthful bad choices and some circumstances beyond my control, I lost myself. I remained a good student and always had fun, but I just became a person I was not really meant to be. When I left for college, I was looking for a reset. I wanted to reinvent myself into someone I recognized. And that is just what I did.

The more I became the person I was meant to be, the less desire I had to look back. But life has a funny way of bringing us full circle. I have given that young foolish girl grace, and I have the courage to look back. And not only that, I also have the desire to reconnect with those beautiful people I grew up with.

And so, there we were. Forty years later. Reveling in the good ole days. Seeing familiar faces, but at times having to reintroduce ourselves because the years have betrayed our once youthful faces. And, at other times, there is no doubt. Those eyes can take our memories back in an instant, not just to high school, but to childhood.

 I am nervous. That high school angst returns. But only momentarily. At this stage in life, what is the point of trying to impress or worry about what you have and have not done? We are genuinely interested in each other. Even those that we did not hang out with or know that well. I feel a kindship with people I should have paid more attention to back then. People I took for granted. And suddenly, I don’t want the evening to end. But we are not young anymore. We have families to return to, planes to catch, responsibilities waiting. And so, reluctantly, we start to say our farewells. Several of our group said good-bye earlier, but some of us just couldn’t leave.

As conversation meanders, a childhood friend says the mistakes we made and the dumb things we did have made us who we are, and the kindness in his eyes gives me an unexpected gift I will treasure. Another one solemnly says the reality is that not all of us will still be walking the earth at our next gathering. And then someone mercifully says something hilarious, and we are back to present, which still feels like the past. And so, again, we start our good-bye hugs for about the third time in half an hour. No one wants to be the first to leave, to be responsible for ending this blissful trip down memory lane. Back to a time when we had more life ahead of us than behind us. Someone takes the first step, and we go our separate ways. That West Texas wind swirling us in so many different directions until the next time.

I return to my mother’s house. She is waiting up for me just as she did when I was a girl. She basks in my excitement and happiness as I recall the evening, who was there, what they are up to. For a moment, she is younger than I am now, and I am that young girl, only more complete because becoming the person I was meant to be was only possible by being the girl I was back then.

BHS Class of 1986, hats off to you!

Until next time, I am Living Between the Scans.