Squeezing Forty Years Into One Paragraph

It all started on Facebook with a message from someone I hadn’t spoken with in 40 years.

Pat Sharpe-Dunn, a grammar school classmate, sent an electronic “hello” from New Jersey which is more like a “hey” than a “howdy.”

We spent close to an hour that night recalling whatever knowledge we had of classmates from the St. Thomas the Apostle eighth grade Class of 1970.

The class was unique because we were together for six straight years. Even though there were three full classes of kids, the nuns kept us separated for the most part. The result was three groups of about 35 kids traveling through grades 3-8 on parallel tracks.

I was close friends with a handful of kids and had information about another half dozen. Pat had been in touch with an equal number and we swapped information like cold war spies. We discussed important topics like who married whom and where folks lived. The subject then turned to juicier topics such as who liked whom in sixth grade and which nuns were the meanest.

The online conversation motivated us to scan Facebook for other 1970 classmates which then spread out like a big family tree to even more classmates. People I had not thought about in a very long time were now posting messages and sharing photos on my “wall.”

I found that summarizing 40 years of your life into one paragraph for an old acquaintance is like writing your own obituary.

“So what have you been up to?” someone asked me.

“Well,” I responded, “I went to college, got married, moved to Indiana, had kids that are now 17 and 18, moved near Dallas, Texas (it sounds so much better than the suburbs) and now spend a lot of time reading about people on Facebook. That just about sums it up. How about you?”
The online frenzy ultimately led us to plan last weekend’s 40th reunion in our hometown of Bloomfield, NJ. A majority of those who attended were locals although several folks planned trips “home” to match up with the reunion.

As each new person walked in, others in the room quickly attempted to guess who they were. Animated conversations quickly drowned out the music and only the pizzas (pies in the local vernacular) were able to quiet thing down. The talk naturally turned to the people and the pranks that everyone remembered.

I would like to think that Sister Adrian, our principal for those 6 years, would be shocked by the conversation but probably not. Every class claims with pride that they were the worst or the rowdiest even though teachers know better. Can you imagine kids bragging that their class had the highest grades and best behavior? Neither can I.

I don’t think I’m insulting anyone when I say most of us weren’t good friends at the time. We were just classmates who shared a great many childhood experiences and inhaled a large amount of chalk dust.

After last Saturday’s reunion I would revise that statement. I think we were more like siblings who spend years ignoring each other only to realize how much they know and how much they care about each other.

Facebook is buzzing these days with St. Thomas reunion photos. To an outsider, the pictures show a bunch of 50 somethings standing around talking. To those who sat in class and church (and detention) at St. Thomas the Apostle School, it was a memorable trip back in time.