HIGH SCHOOL REUNIONS
Marshall Singeltary
My friend, Bill, dropped by the office the other day. He and I have known each other since high school. Bill occasionally drops by when returning from visiting his mother in Millen. He now lives in Augusta, and we have had fun renewing our friendship.

We have grown older of course, and neither of us looks much like our high school yearbook picture.

I've noticed that as we talk about the good times and general silliness and mayhem of those years, the changes diminish. We step back in time for a little while. It feels good to talk to someone who shares your memories, appreciates the same music (mostly early rock-and-roll) and smiles at the mention of certain names. Best of all, we both know why we are smiling!

"We are sending a letter out about a class reunion," Bill said. Like most schools in rural southern Georgia, our class size was small and most of us began first grade together. We were close and our lives often intertwined. The schoolyard fights and competition over the same girlfriends did not diminish our sense of closeness. These days, we describe ourselves as a family. Okay, a slightly dysfunctional family, but family nonetheless!

We have begun having class reunions more often in recent years. Most of the insecurity about reunions dissipated long ago. One of the best things about getting older is that we don't have as much to prove any more. "This is what I have become. This is what I have done. This is what I have left undone. Take me as I am." It's freeing! I wish I had learned that long ago.

I've noticed that the class falls into some of its old patterns when we get together. The same friends gather at tables to talk as they did in high school. I think we are less cliquish now.

Everyone is welcome at any table. However, friendship being what it is, I still gravitate to the same ole gang.

It's also fun watching former boyfriends and girlfriends meet each other after several years. The awkwardness is evident, but so is the electricity. The weight gain, the gray hair and balding heads do not seem to matter as much as you would think. The males stand a little taller.

The females smile and unconsciously bat their eyes more often. Each is wondering: "Does he/she remember the things we said and did? Have they ever wondered about me? Each is hoping: "I hope he/she regrets letting me get away!"

Once again there will be ole time rock-and-roll (CDs, not vinyl 45s). We shall attempt to Bop and Twist and slow dance to the sounds of Elvis, The Platters, Chubby Checker, Fabian, Bobby Rydell, Dion, and a host of cool, young singers now grown old along with us.

Margaret and I will dance the night away. Because we'll be retired by then, we'll have plenty of time to recover!

The guy who once said, "If they ever let me out of this place, I'm never coming back!" will be glad to be back again.