CONVERSATIONS
Wednesday October 13, 1982
Reunion letters pour in...
Well, well. What a surprise. I tossed out an idea a few weeks ago about the possibility of holding a high school reunion ... and the letters are still trickling in.
First of all, thank you for your correspondence and offers of help. There are quite a number of 1972 graduates of LaSalle still haunting the city and those that took the time to write mentioned they could easily get in touch with others.
Most of the letters were of a positive nature. Most of them.
And then there's this one.
The one I've been carrying with me for a week, reading and re-reading, attempting to fathom just what it means exactly.
After four years of being with Kingston This Week, I've had a few strange letters... but none like this.
To begin with, it's a computer printout. A fancy one, mind you, but a computerized personal letter. My first.
The person behind the keypunch obviously knows his computers. I say him because I have a hunch because the writer didn't give (or code in) his name.
Now you know why I'm carrying this letter around, deciphering each paragraph, looking for clues.
If the author happens to be reading this. Let me tell you one thing: if you thought that by not divulging your identity you would keep me in suspense, you're wrong. I'm not in suspense ...
I'm going bonkers.
Who, oh, who could it be? The fellow I liked back in Grade 11, the one who didn’t know I existed? Not likely Or is it someone I considered a friend ... Like a brother.
I've wracked my brain trying, to remember old romances, almost romances and romances that never got further than my imagination.
This, I can assure you, is no easy task, especially when you're feeding a baby keeping a six-year-old out of the fridge and making dinner at the same time. In the midst of the turmoil. I will suddenly stop and say to no one I'll Bet it's Dave.
The babe spits mouthful of sweet potatoes. Mathew eats dessert before dinner and l’m lost in a sea of memories
The mystery writer has some lovely things to say in his enigmatic printout. Memories, he says, become what you want them to become over time. And he questions whether a reunion at a 10-year mark is appropriate: 'too long a space for a casual get-together, too short a time to kill off and bury all the old emotions and ambitions of youth."
I must admit, he has a good point there. High school was, for some, a painful four or five years to pull through. A return to the halls that they never enjoyed — and fled from as soon as they could — is definitely out of the question for them.
I'm betting that for most of us, it wasn't that traumatic, and getting together for an evening wouldn't re-open that many wounds.
My friend sees it a different way, of course."... there is something substantial to lose. The dream or fanciful vision, the romantic element and the hard recognition of reality..."
We all have to come down, sometime friend. Some of us have landed sooner than others.
