Time, which changes people, does not alter the image we have retained of them. — Marcel Proust

As I put pen to paper (euphemistically speaking), the air outside doesn’t bear any kin to what spring is supposed to feel like, although the calendar says it is. Aren’t we supposed to have some taste of warmth right now? Oh, I forgot: This is Texas, where at a given time of the year we can ski in the northern part and surf down south. Don’t ya love it?

But I digress, gentle reader, so I’ll make an attempt to get back on track. I find it hard to believe we’re deep into the third month of 2006, with number four waiting in the wings. Where did they go, and what makes this so urgent right now?

The factors that have led me to pay more attention to this seemingly rapid advance of time are many, but in self-analysis it has to be rooted in the fact that over the last few months the passing of some friends who I grew up with and casually knew have reinforced the fact of just how finite our term on this earth is. That brings me to the significance of this year, a milestone in my life if you will — a high school reunion.

While many don’t feel comfortable addressing their advancing age I’m not too vain to admit this will be our 30th year of “release” from good ol’ CHS. Although we are early in the year it doesn’t hurt to prepare a few things in advance, like getting in touch with classmates who have ventured across the globe, seek a venue, decide what kind of entertainment we want and agree on a date. An early stab into finding the missing wouldn’t be out of the question for a potential committee, especially if the visitors have to make early plans in order to get away. In fact I’ve already been contacted by quite a few who have the desire to reconnect after all these years. Some of them have never attended any of our reunions, but for some reason they want to now.

Granted, the high school years weren’t great for a lot of kids. I had my own insecurities and difficulties, too, and back in the day we felt ostracized on occasion, for whatever reason. I can recall the various cliques that evolved, which separated things from time to time: “Jocks,” “Goat Ropers,” “Heads,” “Band Geeks” and” Rich Kids” were some of the designations, but fortunately there were enough people willing to overcome stereotypes for many to get to know the real souls inside.

From our last few reunions I can say one thing without reservation — it reinforced the thinking of how all of us got along. Color made no difference for the most part. Many of us had been together since at least junior high, if not elementary school, thus the bond was built and exists today. With pride I can say our class didn’t have nearly the same problems others under or after us had.

Anyone who wishes to attend our proposed gathering when plans are formalized is more than welcome. Money won’t be an issue; we want to see your face. If nothing else we need to reconnect. Who knows if this will be the last time we will ever meet each other again, and life is definitely too short for “what ifs.”


Ken Hall is a Daily Sun columnist. His column appears Thursdays and Sundays. He may be reached via e-mail at kendubh1@hotmail.com

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