Class of ’74, You Should Go to Your 50th Reunion
It might change everything you ever thought about high school reunions
My 20th was competitive, the 30th lively and loud, and my 40th playful and flirty, with nearly everyone just a little bit drunk. Each high school reunion had its own flavor, a distinct personality colored by our life stage. And always, for me, a headache-inducing mix of cranked-up fun, tension and ambivalence.
With two divorces, three marriages, several job lay-offs, and a blended family that had ridden some rocky waves in its early years, I typically had plenty of news to share, but little appetite to offer even a morsel. It was easier to listen to my former classmates itemize career accomplishments and gush about overachieving kids than risk eliciting a furrowed brow if I brushed up against my messy truth. Instead, I cooed over their family pictures, smiled politely as they parent-bragged, talked around the edges of my life, and called it a night.
When the invitation for my 50th reunion landed in my mailbox last summer, my first instinct was to toss it.
So, when the invitation for my 50th reunion landed in my mailbox last summer, my first instinct was to toss it. Thanks to Facebook, I was staying connected with people I liked, and more than a few of those friends were opting out. It had been a very, very long time since high school, they said, and they had simply lost interest. As for me, I wasn't sure I could handle an evening of "life is good" platitudes, even though I had arrived in my seventh decade to a grounded place — happy marriage, affection and friendship with my adult children, and pride in a career that had survived bad bosses, layoffs and economic downturns.
Ambivalence notwithstanding, reunions still held for me a gossipy fascination (what were folks up to, what roads had they taken?) mixed with an evening's diversion of briefly coming together with people who had shared my coming of age.
Despite our differences, we had all grown up in the same New Jersey blue collar town, had the same teachers, walked the same halls, and entered adolescence at the same time. Yes, the people who once made me feel less, or nerdy, could still make my spine stiffen in adulthood, but I now had the kind of confidence that reduces any insecurity to a momentary twinge.
And so, having mailed my check to the organizers, I steam-pressed my three-quarter sleeve white shirt with the portrait collar, buttoned my slimming dark denim jeans, swiped a bright red lipstick with the perfect blue undertone, and started the drive from Delaware to New Jersey, arriving three hours later at a rambling farm-to-table restaurant minutes from my high school.
Age Changes Everything
I could feel a slight grip in my gut as I crossed the threshold and joined the cocktail hour. It was packed, three deep, with a surreal sea of faces that were at once unrecognizable and familiar. Weaving through the cramped space, I made my way to the bar, ordered a gin martini with olives, and felt a hand on my shoulder.
"Patti!" exploded into my ear, and I turned to find an old friend, smiling broadly, enveloping me in a hearty bear hug. She warmly recalled basement parties and Friday movie nights that I could not, but her recollections were heartfelt, and I was sure they were true.
We had more to catch up on, but we wanted to mingle, so we made our way through the scrum. The hugs and hellos and "how are you doings?" swirled around the room like streamers, wrapping around us in huddles where we exchanged breathless updates, trying to close the gap on decades.
The years from 58 to 68 had moved us from middle-age to "older adult" and the changes had been significant.
The years from 58 to 68 had moved us from middle-age to "older adult" and the changes had been significant. Conversations over our chicken and pasta dinners were mashups of reminiscences and major life changes — new homes, new grandkids and bucket list vacations.
Retirement, health issues, illnesses and deaths had taken the place of promotions, marriages and babies. Mountain climbing and surfing had been sidelined in favor of Mediterranean cruises and snowbirding in Florida. Parents and spouses had died. A classmate and I chatted quietly during the lull between dinner and dessert about winding down careers, about transitions. Her partner had recently passed, and it had stunned her, leaving her unsure of who she was, and where she needed to be.
I could only say how sorry I was, but I empathized with the gravity of change and deeply sensed the inevitability of endings.
Camaraderie and Affection
A separate room, away from the bar and the dining tables, was reserved for pictures of classmates who had died.
There had always been a thoughtful remembrance at previous reunions — a book or a framed list of names. But this year, the memorial was a wall of yearbook pictures, our deceased friends, acquaintances, nemeses and crushes, in that odd yearbook half-smile, frozen in time. The room was hushed with reverence as we whispered questions — how did it happen, when? — and I felt a softness in how we spoke about them, and about ourselves.
This reunion was devoid of pretense. At 68, we were ready to share the hardships, the pain, the losses and missteps, along with travel plans and caregiving challenges and the joys and struggles of post-retirement life.
Unlike past reunions, my 50th was as warm and cozy as a '70s crocheted vest.
I returned to my table and picked up the conversation, which had landed on our modest upbringings (the houses were small, no?), hearing aids, new knees, new hobbies and the pleasure of having enough time to relax, to breathe. We recalled our 40th, when we had winced at the thought of turning 60 in two short years and how, with mesmerizing speed, our 70s were hovering. We laughed nervously in unison and raised our glasses to the next milestone.
Unlike past reunions, my 50th was as warm and cozy as a '70s crocheted vest, reminding me, with camaraderie and affection, that people who share a pivotal life stage can appreciate it like no other, especially when the gauze of age has softened any sharp edges.
So, if you've ruled it out, reconsider. Yes, your 50th will likely be filled with dim memories and old jokes, but unlike the others, this one may also connect you to the beauty of shared experience, both past and present, at an age when you can truly savor its sweetness.
