I say ‘a number’ because I don’t know what the years were. I’m crap like that. I got my starting dates wrong and then had everyone scratching their heads wondering why I spent 2 years in the third form.
I had been a bit nervous about going back and seeing all the people I grew u with. I cut pretty much all ties to my home town when I was 22, and apart form a couple of short stints, I’ve only really gone back to visit my folks. So the thought of seeing my old mates and catching up was great. But I also was worried that I had not done enough in the 20 odd years I’ve been away.
Certainly I’ve been out and travelled, seen a bunch of the world and done some weird and wonderful things. But at 42 I’m still single with no kids, no house and I’m not ‘part’ of a community. I do have a good job, earning good money and I’m damn good at what I do. So I guess on balance I could turn up and at least not be a dismal failure.
So on Friday after dropping a mate at the airport, I drove up. And as I travelled, with hits of the late 70s and early 80s on the stereo I began remembering all the adventures I’d shared with the guys I grew up with. By the time I drove up my parents driveway I was keen to see all the guys and relive the days of my youth. All doubts about being there were gone.
After a quick cuppa with my folks I went up to the school for a look around. So much had changed, and yet so much was the same. There were tall trees where before there was just grass. I spent some time wondering if there was a tree when we used to play bulrush here…
But a tree can grow quite big in 25 odd years, so I’m sure it wasn’t there when I was at school.
Some of the old buildings were gone, sadly. The technical studies block where the older boys used to hang my upside down from the cloak pegs by my socks was gone.
Another block where we used to hang out in a sun trap now has an extra building in front of it, effectively killing off the spot where were used to spend our lunchtimes.
The pre-fabs which were falling down when we were there, were still there, and had even had a coat of paint!!
And then I started bumping into people I knew…. And who knew me.
I was talking to one guy I was in the third form with, and who was now the official photographer, when I got a slap on my bum and a grinning face said ‘we’re over here’.
One of my high school crushes had recognised me, from behind and had come over to drag me back to the group.
That might sound like a great feat of recognition, in a crowded marquee, to spot me in a crowd, but not really. I was only 4 feet tall at high school, the shortest person there. I was still the sorted person in the tent, so it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out who I was.
But it was nice to be recognised and to catch up and find out what she had been up to. Married, 2 kids, living up north and looking happy with her life.
And there was so much of that. Everyone I saw from my year looked great. They all looked so young and happy. There was such a positive feeling the whole weekend and it was just like sitting around at lunchtime after exams, when there was nothing left to worry about except what to do over the summer holidays.
Many had moved away, to nearby cities, some had moved further afield and more than a few had stayed and raised families. But they were all pleased to see old friends and classmates, even if it took some time to place the names and faces.
There was so much head bobbing to check name tags that we looked like a flock of flamingos grazing the waters edge. And so many cries of ‘Oh my god, you haven’t changed a bit!’
In my case it was true. Once a short arse, always a short arse. But it was true of so many others as well. And it was the smiles that did it for me.
Someone would be standing chatting and I would know that I knew them, but could not place them. And then they would smile, and that would key the memory and I would know exactly who they were, and what we’d got up to, and even the excuses we came up with when we got caught.
And I think that is a marvellous thing. The key was smiling. For that to be imprinted as the most effective path to my memories must mean that we did a lot of smiling way back then.
I met people that I didn’t even remember that I knew until some mentioned their names.
In my third form year, my form teacher was a young woman in her first year, fresh from teacher’s college. She was the not-so-secret crush of just about every boy in my year. And we had all read that she would be attending the reunion and it didn’t take long for the guys to start asking if anyone had spotted her.
No-one had, and pretty soon we had organised search parties to track her down. Even the girls in our year got in on it, because she was a great teacher and popular with everyone. We never found her, sadly, but shared many great stories of her classes, and some of her out-of-school escapades.
I also was lucky enough to see my favourite teacher – Mrs. B. (and that’s what we called her)
It was after the official opening, which was just like most of our assemblies. So nothing much had changed there.
She walked up and gave me a big grin and said, ‘I know that face’. I couldn’t place her for a second and then it hit me. I gave her the biggest hug and was suddenly very glad that I had made the trip. At 70 she looked great. She was happy and smiling and still the same lovely person that I remembered.
More memories were shared and I got the opportunity to thank her and to tell her that she made a difference. She instilled in me an abiding love of science and made me see that learning was not always a chore that had to be done because ‘it had to be done’. It can be a fun experience too.
The only negative part of the weekend was the failure of so many locals to turn up. Many of the kids who had stayed behind simply didn’t attend. Perhaps feeling less than adequate, or somehow feeling they would be looked down on for staying put.
I can understand that. I had those same fears. But they needn’t have worried. There was no pretentiousness, no ‘Well I earn so much more than you…’ or ‘I’ve done this and this and this and you’ve done nothing’.
Everyone was just excited to hear what their friends had been up to, and many were disappointed that so many people they were hoping to see hade not made it.
Myself included. As more memories surfaced I found myself asking ‘where is .. so and so’. Often the answer was, ‘Oh he’s around but not coming’.
It was a shame, and they missed out on what was a great weekend.
I’m very glad I went. It was worth making the effort, spending the money, dealing with the doubt.
So many of the people I lost touch with are now just a txt or an email away. The ties that I cut were renewed so easily, it was as if they were just waiting for the chance to be revived.
If you get the opportunity to get together with old friends, no matter what the event, do it. Don’t worry that your life is not a shining example of achievement. None of us became rich and famous. But it didn’t matter. As soon as we started talking we were all back in school, talking about what we’d got up to over the weekend, laughing and singing along with the band.
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