The “Final Reunion”!

    The “Final Reunion” was the title on the invitation.

Sounds rather deadly.

It was an invitation to my class reunion… but the committee apparently decided we were getting too old for such shenanigans and this would be the last one.

Now keep in mind that I hadn’t been attending most of these get-to-gethers.  But it was kind of creepy to think that this would be the “last” one.

The class president explained... 

 The reason for having a “Final” reunion was: “Turning 80 comes with new limitations and losses - mobility, vision, hearing, dexterity, driving, dietary, memory, financial, loss of spouse, loss of energy, - some experiencing these more than others.”  

“The committee, mindful of these changes, has selected a site and menu that best addresses these needs.”

Where would you have a “final" reunion?

I could only guess their choice would be the closest nursing home.  Actually, a mortuary would be a good site…  it sounded like we were almost there anyway.

On consideration…

The committee is made up of good kind folks who are just being considerate.

And I’m just being me… like I usually am.  

But there are so many things I’ve learned in all these years.  I haven’t gone to many reunions because I have not been comfortable in such situations.  

But I’m getting better at it - and even enjoying it.

Hmmmm…. The Final Reunion!

Maybe I should go….  I just opened my old yearbook. I liked the kids back then.  I’d like to know what they have learned over the years.

And I was touched by reading what my old journalism teacher had written so long ago in my year book.  

We had a weekly newspaper at the school and I was involved in it fanatically… mostly writing after midnight following my regular homework, etc.  We even went to the printers with our layouts and when we needed more “fill” for a page I would whip something together.

You can see how my teacher might have been concerned about my writing and had even taken some home to read to his wife to see if they were printable!

But he went to bat for me.

And my journalism teacher wrote:

And he wrote in my yearbook:  “Farewell to my poet, philosopher and friend.  Don’t be gone forever.”

Now I can understand how a teenager could write poems and be a friend.  But it amazes me that he could call me a “philosopher”!  

I googled the word.  The noun philosophy means… the search for wisdom… to understand how and why people do certain things…how to live a good life… to know the meaning of life.

Well… all these years later and I’m still doing that!

But maybe he “saw” something in me that I didn’t know about.

That’s what teachers do, you know!

(Thank you Mr. Nielson.)