Month: October 2013

Who’s Your Best Friend? Pt. 2

Published by mhelbert on October 14, 2013

This is the second part of a series about the possibility of women and men building ‘best friend’ relationships. As I reflect and write about this topic I find that it continues to morph and grow into something more than a simple yes or no can address. Yes, there will be a part three. And, at this point probably a part four. We’ll see where God takes us.

Last week I began writing about relationships between women and men here. Particularly, on the possibility of them being ‘best’ friends. I stated some of the common objections to these relationships. And, I began to deconstruct some of those objections as having their origins in a particular, privileged male view of sexuality. I pointed out how this view demeans and silences women, as well as reinforces the image of how poor, weak men are bound to be ensnared by the sexual wiles of women. I feel that view of sexuality is pretty much crap talk. I’m not about to go along with any position that unfairly labels women as sluts or gives men a pass on their own, personal faults. What I am going to do today is try to unpack some of the issues regarding cross-sex relationships.

When I was a young boy most of my best friends were other boys. We played in the woods and climbed trees. We raced bicycles and played baseball. We prided ourselves as being true ‘He Man Woman Haters.’ However, I knew who the fastest kid in our class was. And, she could beat any one of us boys in a foot race. When teams for kickball were chosen, I tried to make sure she was on my team. In the classroom I spent more time with the girls because they were smarter than most of my guy friends. It always helped to be on their team during spelling and math contests. Many times outside of class boys and girls played together. (That is, as long as the girls didn’t want to play house. Yuk!) The point is kids know how to be friends with anyone, regardless of gender. But, something happened as we got older. Our bodies began to change. Hormones started messing with us. Parents and other adults started telling us that boys and girls needed to start preparing for marriage. Physical pressure, peer pressure and social pressure built to the point of bursting. I’m surprised anyone survives this! All of the sudden…the innocence is gone. Now, we have to learn a whole new way of relating to one another. The girl who once was one of my best friends has become a sexual object. Not because we chose that path. But, because others defined it for us.

I want to be clear about something before I continue. In this series I’m not addressing casual or professional acquaintances. These relationships are viewed as completely necessary and acceptable by most people. I am writing about the possibility for women and men to have relationships in which their hearts are knit together. In which they become kindred spirits who support and encourage one another. In essence, they are best friends in every sense that implies. However, they remain just friends.

Impossible? I don’t think so. Let’s take time to look at some of the issues.Please note that these are serious issues. Many good people and relationships have been shipwrecked because of them. So, I do not take them lightly. I do, however, want to place them within a context that may, perhaps, shed some light on them and offer hope to people who may feel lost and hopeless.

In my last post I shared a video clip from the movie, “When Harry met Sally.” Billy Crystal’s character said that it was impossible for women and men to be friends because ‘the sex part’ always gets in the way. I think there’s some truth in that statement. Whether it’s always an issue, I’m not sure. I do know that in many cases physical attraction and desire are potential deal breakers. I don’t want to belittle this issue, but I think that we need to understand that ‘the sex part’ is totally natural. As I wrote before, we are sexual beings. However, we tend to obsess over this. Especially, in the purity culture, sexuality is whispered about or it is ignored. This sentiment seems to have its roots in how the early church incorporated the Christian scriptures and Greek philosophy, particularly Plato. That view divides the unseen ultimate concept of things from their physical representation on earth. The physical is always something ‘less than’ the ultimate, non-physical reality. The church began to understand that the spiritual reality, therefore, is something to be sought after. The physical, or the ‘flesh,’ was something to be despised. Spirit=Good; Flesh=Bad. However, the folks who wrote the First Covenant did not seem to view humanity like this. Theirs was a wholistic view of people. It looked more like this: Flesh+Spirit=Soul. This view honors the whole person. We can accept and embrace ourselves as God’s image bearers in God’s Good Creation. I truly believe that grasping this is the first step in freeing ourselves from the prison of shame and false modesty. That freedom is necessary for openness and friendship to be established between women and men. Freedom can be won when a person admits and owns their sexuality. When I confess that, yes, I am attracted to this person, I don’t have to hide it or deny it. I can embrace it. After all, this ‘sexual’ me is part of who I am…who God has formed me to be. By not giving into shame and obsessing over my human nature I don’t empower it. I can simply admit that it’s there and move on. I do not have to gratify it. It took me a long time and some monumental failures to learn this. And, it wasn’t until I realized that one of my best friends is a woman that I began to understand that embracing who I am is one of the greatest safeguards against pursuing ‘the sex part.’

There is another potential hazard that I think is vital to understand. It is, perhaps, even more important than this one. But, you’ll have to wait for part three for that.

How do you feel about your identity as a sexual being? Is it possible to accept and embrace ourselves as whole persons and share that with others?

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Only You Can Provide What I Need

Published by mhelbert on October 12, 2013

I am currently working through a course on writing by a guy named Jeff Goins. I’ve been a fan of his for several months. Of course, his first concern is his own well-being. But, in the process he offers help to those of us who are trying to find ourselves in the world of published writers. Part of the education process for writers is to ask for opinions. Now, for those of us who have fragile egos, like every artist on the planet, this can be daunting. However, because I want to improve at this craft, I am going to ask you, my readers, for some feedback.

I started this blog in 2009. Since then I have published 223 posts. I have received 658 views. From all of that…I have 19 comments. Now, that indicates that either no one is reading the blog. Or, that no one is taking the opportunity to comment. (I prefer the latter. Just cuz of my ego and all.)

To be fair, some of you know me and have responded to what I’ve written by personal e-mail. I appreciate that. Since about June of this year I have also linked every blog post I write to Facebook, Twitter and tumblr. Some of you have offered your opinions and feedback through those media. A couple folks I have personal contact with and have expressed their opinions personally. One of these people, someone whose opinion I cherish, once told me that a certain post revealed the ‘real Michael.’ That took me aback and I didn’t write at all for awhile because I wanted to make sure that everything I wrote revealed the ‘real Michael.’ Well, that’s not possible. I wish it was. But, I have to write. Period.

So, my request to all of you is this…Out of the posts that I write, what makes them unique? What could I do more or less of? And, most importantly, in your view, what can I do to improve?

I covet your input. Please comment and let me know what you are thinking.

Thank you ever so much,

Mike

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On Grapes and Gratitude

Published by mhelbert on October 11, 2013

This morning’s Exercise focused on a passage from the Gospel according to Mark. In chapter 12, the first few verses, a story is recorded about a man who planted a vineyard. He planted the vines, built a wine press and built a wall around it. He then leased it to some folks to tend the vines and, in time, bring in the harvest. At the time of the harvest, so the story goes, the man sent someone to collect his share of the fruit. The tenants beat him and sent him away empty handed. This process was repeated several times. Some servants were beaten, others killed. Finally, the man sent his son to collect. For some reason, he thought that the tenants would respect his son. The tenants took the son outside of the vineyard and killed him. Apparently, they thought this would allow them to lay claim to the vineyard. The story ends with the threat of the man coming himself and destroying the tenants.

Fun story, eh, kids? Give me what’s mine or, in the words of Achmed the Dead Terrorist, “I keel you!” But, that’s not the point of the story. In it, the man prepared the vineyard with everything necessary for a successful operation at his own expense. The plants, buildings, wall and winepress were all put in place. Workers were secured to tend to his investment. Arrangements were agreed to in which at the harvest the man would receive a share. This was his Return On Investment. The tenants, however, either felt entitled to the whole or simply were not mindful of the man’s claim. Personally, I think that they felt that since they had done all of the labor they were entitled to the entire harvest. I think that they felt secure within the walls that the man had built. And, I speculate that they did not expect the man to do anything about it. They were arrogant and self-seeking. There was apparently no concern for possible consequences to their actions.

The story ends with a threat. It doesn’t finish with the destruction of the tenants, only the statement that the man would be within his rights to come and take what was his by force. Now, like any parable, eventually comparisons to life events break down. And, I don’t want to stretch this into something it was not intended for. A couple of things that I did notice, though…

The man was mindful of what was necessary to run a successful business. He prepared everything that was necessary to turn a profit and provide for himself, his family and the tenants.
He graciously provided for the tenants’ livelihood by giving them free reign to care for the vineyard.
He exhibited unusual patience by sending, and continuing to send people to collect his share.
Ultimately, he sent his own son, his heir, to collect payment.

I think that if I had to highlight any one point of the story it would be gratitude. The man had done everything in his power to see to the well-being of the tenants. They had no investment in the vineyard. It was pretty much handed to them. The man did not tell them how to care for it…he was not a micro-manager. In the end, he simply wanted the tenants to show respect and gratitude by providing his share. By their actions the tenants revealed greed, disrespect and ingratitude. They considered the vineyard and its produce theirs and they were not about to share it.

I know that I don’t show gratitude for much of what I’ve been given. I have a life, people, a place and a mind that thinks. And, most of the time I consider all of this mine. I forget, or am not mindful, of the Source from which these things come. Honestly, I don’t see that changing a great deal. Yeah, this story has reminded me that gratitude should be the natural response to such graciousness. But, I forget sometimes. I don’t think that I’m alone in this. That’s why I’m sharing it. Perhaps, we all need a reminder to be thankful from time to time.

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My Journey with Loyola

Published by mhelbert on October 10, 2013

As promised, I want to take a few moments to share a bit about my journey with Ignatius Loyola. First, however, I think that it’s important to explain a little about my expectations. Loyola first introduced the Spiritual Exercises to aid people in discerning God’s purposes for their lives. Particularly, those who were considering entering religious service…priests and other Religious. Over the years they have also been employed by people who simply desire to deepen their relationship with God. I have a little of both stirring within me. Not so much considering religious service, but certainly career options. As I wrote in my previous post, my current job is leeching the life out of me. So, I have an expectation that somewhere in this process I will either find peace where I’m at, or will discover another option. Secondly, I desire with all of my heart to know my God deeper and more profoundly. Attending seminary helped me to deconstruct much of the religious crap that I had been floundering in. My life reeked of it. Once most of that was shoveled out and disposed of, I found that I had to rebuild my belief, my faith, in God. Through prayer, reflection, relationships and spiritual disciplines new revelations and understandings have begun to fill that void. As I continue to grow as a spiritual person, Loyola’s Exercises seem to be a next logical step. Most importantly, I believe that God has enabled this desire to grow. I have confidence that I am not on this journey alone. The Spirit of God has joined with me as companion and guide.

This first week is a week of preparation. It is simply labeled, “A week of prayer.” My Spiritual Director explained that many people who begin the Exercises need to learn how to pray. They may not have specific time allotted for this practice. Many may not have been introduced to the particular way of prayer that the Exercises employ. So, the purpose of this week is to familiarize people with the process of prayer.

The primary practice of prayer this week is a variation on Lectio Divina, or literally, Divine Reading. The Exercises approach this as “Praying with the Scriptures.” The purpose, as one writer explains, “it, [Lectio], is undertaken not with the intention of gaining information but of using the texts as an aide to contact the living God.” Theological understanding and exegetical practice are not the focus of this kind of reading. Allowing oneself to be drawn into the text, to participate in the story, is what is important. In this way one can experience the drama, the sights and smells, and, hopefully, the presence of God.

Where will this path lead? I’m not sure. I am trying not to allow preconceptions to cloud the way or prejudice me toward one outcome or another. Openness to the gentle breeze of God’s breath is my goal.

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More Musings on a Wednesday Morning

Published by mhelbert on October 9, 2013

The journey begins. No one said that it would be easy. Rocks; boulders; deep crevasses impede forward motion. Yet, forward we must go. For, to retreat…to backtrack…is futility itself. Clambering over obstacles. Vaulting over lacerations in the earth, deep and unhealed that no salve can sooth. Forward, ever forward.

Yet above, you know, that place where God dwells insulated from the mundane…the “everyday.” The place where mere mortals press onward. Forward, ever forward.

“When I was a child, I used to speak like a child, think like a child, reason like a child.” But, I am no longer a child. I am enveloped by the ‘NOW!’ Beneath azure skies where the gods dance I am enshrouded by the nebulous mist of incense filling the temple of my heart. NOW! Pressing me forward, ever forward.

Attentive to the sound of my breath; my heart playing rhythms reaching out to the life that surrounds me. Searching for intimacy. Where are you, my Soul? Come! Take my hand as we leap, dance and run forward, ever forward.

In those days darkness will draw near. The sound of flies buzzing in my ears. I will lie down to rest. Sleep! Blesséd sleep! Yet, the journey does not end. For even now…I must press on forward, ever forward.

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Who’s Your Best Friend? Pt. 1

Published by mhelbert on October 8, 2013

This is part one of a discussion I’ve been considering for quite some time. And, it has been one of the most difficult pieces that I’ve attempted to address. At this point I can only say that there will be at least a part two. Maybe, more. I will publish part two next week.

A couple of months ago I read a post over at Rachel Held Evans’ blog. It was a guest post written by Alise Wright entitled “Not ‘Just’ Friends -Thoughts on cross-sex friendship.” Alise has her own blog here. The piece was a critique of the common assumption that when women and men get together, they cannot possibly be friends because the ‘sex thing’ will always rear its hoary head. I read the post and comments. I chased several links through many other similar posts by other authors. And, I noticed that this topic was addressed mostly from a women’s perspective. Other than a few comments, I did not find any posts written by men about this. While I thought this was a tad odd, I was not surprised. I find that, in a broad generalization, men are somewhat reluctant to discuss matters that touch on ‘cross-sex’ friendships. So, I thought that I would offer some reflections from my very male perspective.

I can only speak to those of us who live in Western culture. For much of the world, gender roles are specifically delineated. For instance, in parts of the Muslim world, women are totally segregated from men. Different clothing and different rules for appearing in public are written into civil law. In these instances the kinds of relationships I want to discuss are simply not possible.

However, in the West we are not subject to such strictures. Overtly, there is an understanding that women and men are equal and, therefore, are able to seek whatever companionship and camaraderie they desire. (Although, covertly there is still a long way to go before ours is a truly egalitarian culture.) But, are we able to simply ‘be friends’?

The embedded clip from the movie “When Harry Met Sally” is actually a pretty accurate assessment of what many people think. In the circle that I’ve been a part of for the last 30 or so years people will swear by this. It’s the gospel. Men and women cannot be trusted to be together outside of state and church sanctioned wedlock. And, to be quite honest, I have experienced the difficulties and consequences of relationships like this. They can be extremely precarious. As I was training for various ministry positions and even at seminary, we were often told that the best rule to protect oneself and one’s reputation was to simply avoid being alone with someone of the opposite sex. (Or, with someone who is the gender that one is attracted to.) This ‘necessary’ precaution would provide a barrier against ‘impurity’ or even the appearance of impropriety. In practice this would mean that pastors and counselors could not meet with these people behind closed doors. Or, at the very least, windows should be installed so that nothing could be hidden from view. Meetings with cross-sex colleagues and coworkers should be avoided. And, never, ever was it appropriate to go to lunch or spend non-official time with them. These rules were put in place to protect individuals from following their inherent ‘lust’ from spilling out and contaminating everyone.

This way of thinking has naturally grown out of what has become known as the ‘purity culture.’ In this culture two characteristics predominate. The first characteristic is that women are Jezebel seductresses who dress and act in ways that are designed to capture men’s imaginations and cause them to stumble and fall. Members of this culture decry the way women dress, particularly in the summer or in warm climates. I heard one church leader say from the pulpit that he hated summer for that very reason. This position not only objectifies women in a negative way, it opens the door for shaming that always demeans and silences women. The second characteristic is not unlike the first. This suggests that men are weak, carnal beasts who cannot control the sexual lusts and desires that the seductress women cause them to have. (Please note, it’s the women who bear the onus of this charge, not the men.) Both of these characteristics diminish people and marginalize them. The scriptures tell the story of humans created in the ‘image of God,’ as eikons who represent God on Earth. Granted, humanity is fallible. We are not far removed from other animals. We are, in a word, sexual beings. But, to reduce us to the two characteristics mentioned above is to caricaturize people. It also tends to cause folks to obsess over the issue of sexuality. Much like telling your child not to eat the cookies, continually telling people that they must avoid any kind of behavior that may smack of impropriety may, in fact, draw them into it. I think that there must be a better way to address cross-sex relationships. A way that not only honors marriage and family, but that allows people to express their love and friendship freely and without all of the baggage of the ‘purity culture.’

In my next post I will share some of my thoughts and reflections about how we may have and enjoy these relationships. I would also like input from readers.

How do you view cross-sex relationships? Do you think that it is even possible to have them and not engage the ‘sex thing’? Please share your thoughts in the comments.

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Walking the path of Ignatius Loyola

Published by mhelbert on October 7, 2013

Today I am embarking on a new spiritual journey. My Spiritual Director is going to lead me through what are known as the Ignatian Exercises. For the next 36 weeks, or so, we will travel a path first explored by the 16^th century founder of the Society of Jesus, better known as the Jesuits, Ignatius Loyola. Born into the feudal culture of northern Spain, Loyola dreamed of being a part of the grandeur that courtly love and knighthood could provide. He very nearly realized his dream when he was severely wounded in a battle against the French. During the time in which he recuperated from his wounds he read books on the lives of Jesus and the saints. He discerned that people described in these lives exhibited many of the same heroic and chivalrous characteristics that he admired. At the same time, however, he continued to dream about life at court. As he continued to reflect on and examine his thoughts and feelings he noticed that as he contemplated the lives of Jesus and the saints, he felt inner peace and satisfaction. When he thought about life at court, feelings of dissatisfaction predominated. This awareness inaugurated his life quest that culminated in the development and propagation of the Spiritual Exercises. Loyola realized that through prayer, study and a process called examen, perhaps the cornerstone of the Exercises, one could “detect God’s presence and discern his direction for us.”

Ok, so why am I even considering this process? After all, I’m old and feeble. My life has been lived according to the standards and expectations of our culture. I’ve worked hard at a vocation to provide for my family. All of the requisite activities of parenthood and marriage have been accomplished. Yet, like Loyola, I continue to strive with feelings of dissatisfaction and restlessness. I have labored for 40 years in an industry that creates in me anxiety and a great sense of helpless entrapment that eats away at my soul. Even family life does not completely fill the void in my heart that our culture, particularly the evangelical culture that I was a part of, claims that it should. There are those who would say that all I need to do is surrender to God’s will and all will be well with the world. But, that begs the question…what is God’s will? And, I’m not really that interested with all things being well with the world. Occasional happiness and satisfaction would be quite alright. I’m not hoping to experience any profound theological insights. Nor, am I envisioning some kind of neo-monastic lifestyle. The Exercises are about self-discovery. They are a tool for discernment and direction. They are a way to know and experience God’s presence in one’s life. That is why I am forging ahead with Loyola.

As my Spiritual Director and I follow Loyola’s footsteps, I hope to write about the experience here. Perhaps any who read this blog will have insights that can help me and other readers. Please share these in the comments. Do I think this process will be a panacea that answers all of my life’s questions? Not at all. But, even at this stage of my life I must have some direction about my vocation…my calling…in life.

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Remembering Grandpa Tom

Published by mhelbert on October 4, 2013

This past weekend I got to know my paternal grandfather a little bit. I never did meet him before he died in 1959. I was just a wee lad and he lived in another state. My dad never talked about him much. He and my dad’s stepmother had divorced and Tom left dad with her. I don’t think dad ever really forgave him for that. The story was that Tom was an alcoholic and pretty much not good for anything. At least, that’s the version I was told.

I have spent much of the last month since dad’s passing sifting through papers, photos and other bits and pieces of his and mom’s life. This past weekend I finally got to the boxes of pictures and old letters. Scribbled on the lid of one box, with black magic marker, was “Tom.” In that box I found a treasure. There were photos of a young child in clothes that would definitely get him beaten up if he wore them today. Tom was born in 1897, so the styles, especially the dress styles, were…well, something to behold. Think of Ron Weasley at the Hogwarts’ Yule ball in The Goblet of Fire. There were a few family photos showing Tom with his parents and siblings. All of these image revealed the family standing rigid and straight-faced as if the camera was a firing squad. Then, I found a couple pictures with Tom and his first wife, Mary. That marriage did not last long. His second wife was named Goldie. My dad came into this life as the consummation of this union. Unfortunately, Goldie passed from tuberculosis when dad was just 6 years old. I don’t think that Tom ever really recovered from that. It seems that the loss of his beloved Goldie was the beginning of his downward spiral into the maelstrom of alcohol and forgetfulness. Tom did remarry, I think for Bill’s sake, but as I wrote above, that did not last nor end well.

Tom relocated to Florida where he pretty much fell off the grid. Perhaps, he thought that the further he could run from his past the better he would feel. He found employment on various farms helping to harvest citrus and other fruit and vegetables. These years have been erased…at least for me. Perhaps one of Tom’s siblings kept some information that has been passed on. But, I really don’t have any contact with any of them. What I did find, however, was a stack of old letters and other correspondence from the last few years of Tom’s life. Most of the letters were written by Tom to one of his sisters in Ohio. These letters, dated between 1956 and 1959, revealed a man who was lost and reaching out to the only people who could connect him to a happier existence.

Tom was a simple man. The letters were penciled on small note pad type paper. The hand that drew the characters was not steady. Maybe from drinking. Maybe from handling something as foreign as a writing instrument. It was obvious that his education was not a high priority when he grew up. The spelling and grammar were at a grade school level. He was ‘shure’ glad when the ‘wether’ was nice and his ‘cocial security’ check arrived. The content was simple. He asked about his sister’s life and condition. And, he replied with reports of his health and the current weather conditions. I found out that my dad had been writing to him, as Tom wrote that he had received letters from Billy. Funny, Dad never mentioned that. From these letters I learned that Tom had to have a leg amputated 4 inches below the knee. He considered the repercussions that the ‘wooden leg’ he was getting would have on his life. I don’t know why the leg was removed. I think that the cause was a work related injury because he mentioned disability checks. But, that’s only conjecture. In letters dated form 1958 I learned that Tom had throat cancer. His frustration at getting straight answers from doctors was quite evident. (I guess some things never change.) At one point he wrote that he was convinced that he did not have cancer, but a ‘toomer.’ And for that, he was getting ‘treetment’.

In all of the letters there was an almost desperate longing for relationship. Although he put on the façade of someone who was independent and was taking care of himself, he ended the letters with pleas for his sister to answer the letter quickly. Or, he wrote for his sister to tell Perl, his brother, or Billy to please answer his letters. It was as if he was shouting, “Sis! Please tell someone…anyone…to talk to me, listen to me…touch me!” As the summer of 1959 unfolded, Tom’s health took a turn for the worse. I found a couple of letters from Tom’s doctor stating that there was nothing more that they could do for him. The best treatment they had was simply palliative, or comfort care. Late that summer my family and I were in Maine on vacation. It was there that dad received the call that Tom had passed.

We packed and returned home.

Tom’s sister made all of the arrangements to have Tom returned to Ohio where he finally found peace lying next to his mother in a small cemetery on a hill in the countryside.

I still don’t know Tom. I’ve learned a little about him. But, just like the word ‘tree’ is not actually a tree, these mementos are not actually the real man. There is so much that I don’t know about my adopted family. People I will never know…places and events that have long since escaped memory. I have few ties with the past…the legacy of humanity. I have embraced my place as one grafted into this family tree. Thomas Lester Helbert is the name of my branch.

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Musings on a Wednesday Morning

Published by mhelbert on October 2, 2013

I love sitting in the stillness of the morning. Outside there are the sounds of crickets and the occasional acorn falling on a nearby rooftop. A candle, the scent of cinnamon, burns and fills the room with autumn. My thoughts wander here and there. They touch memories and sensations within me; without me. In the core of my being, my heart, I sense God’s presence. Peace. Be still, O my soul.

I allow the Muse to guide me. ‘Where shall we go? To what far off land or sea or star?’ Perhaps, we’ll simply drift on a river as it meanders through green fields. We listen to the sound of the water flowing gently over a bed of small rocks and pebbles. It tells tales of aeons past. It knows the fish and the fowl by name. Ancient people traveled along its banks; floated on its back. Never tiring, it bends and winds its way from its source to the Great Sea. There its life mingles with that of the Other in brackish love-making in which it is embraced, consumed by this One. Is this not the way of it? We travel the path before us. Touching and being touched we grow and we learn. From our beginning, our source, we are destined to live, laugh, cry…love. If fortune smiles upon us, another may join in our journey. A companion, a friend…a lover. However, our path and theirs are not the same. Even though we walk together I have my own quest. And, you have yours. Joyful as our time spent together may be, one day our ways must diverge. You will be joined to Another. Embraced by the One who is the true Source. And, I…I will flow into the Great Sea.

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Remembering the Class of ’73

Published by mhelbert on October 1, 2013

This past weekend was our city celebrated Homecoming. There was the requisite high school football game on Friday night. On Saturday people gathered for a parade and other activities. Sunday morning the local Kiwanis club served their pancake breakfast to the hungry masses. This year, however, there was an additional event. It was the 40 year reunion of the Avon Lake High School class of 1973.

Forty years since a group of people, many of whom had grown up together, walked onto the football field dressed in maroon and gold caps and gowns. Forty years since we sat anxiously awaiting the proclamation that we were free to go out and seek our fortunes. Forty years had flowed by since we hugged and slapped each other on the back. Forty years in which many of us had raised families and watched our children graduate from high school. Forty years that had passed by in a heartbeat.

We had a fairly good turnout for the event. Classmates came in from all over the world to attend. One good friend of mine had just arrived from Kuala Lumpur. Another from Atlanta, GA. Still others from New York, North Carolina and Chicago. I was surprised at how many of us still lived here and had never connected. Yeah, there are a few folks that I see from time to time at the local stores. But, out of all the people from our class, I can count on my fingers the number that I have seen and talked with. On that day in June of 1973 we all walked away from one another with our diplomas and our dreams.

The next day my wife and I told our daughter about the reunion. She responded that she probably would not attend any of hers. She said that she really didn’t have too many friends in her class, so why bother. I have to admit that I had shared a bit of apprehension about that myself. I don’t have too many fond memories of my years in high school. It was a time of transition and change. Awkward young teens growing and developing into young adults. New experiences and responsibilities strive with childhood security and comfort. There is a desire to fit in and be accepted. Yet, there is also, the need to explore individuality. For many this makes one’s image a matter of great importance. What to wear and who to hang out with are things obsessed about. Add to all of this raging hormones and a dash of teenage angst and the whole high school experience can become something altogether forgettable.

At the reunion, however, I found a group of people who had grown and matured. The lines that had defined us had long since dissolved. Where once there were jocks and freaks; greasers and bandies, now there were just people working day to day making a living the best that they can. I saw people that I had loved and cared about secretly, because they weren’t ‘cool.’ Now we were all free to embrace and affirm one another. Businesses, bills, children, responsibilities, and aging parents have worn the rough edges like waves battering granite cliffs. The years have produced lines of erosion etched into our faces. These things have leveled the playing field. We were, at last, equal. Equally worthy of honor and respect. Equal in our quest for immortality through the next generations that we have brought into existence. That night I saw classmates, peers, sisters and brothers.

The most difficult part of the evening was remembering those who could not be with us. The folks that planned the event set up a special table with the name tags of those who have passed on. I’m sure that everyone else felt as I did. We’re simply not old enough to be feeling our mortality like this. The really hard part was realizing that many of these people had passed through the veil in their youth. Seeing some of the name tags ripped open memories that I had thought were healed. I guess they will never completely heal. And, that’s a good thing. Our memories keep us in to connect us with the realities that we once lived. The guys in auto-shop and the math/science geeks are all part of what has made us who we are. Our memories continue to shape us even as our original experiences did. So, we raise our glasses in gladness and hope. To the class of ’73…God bless and Godspeed.

What are some of your memories of school?

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