From There to Here

One familiar element of news reports involving a fatality is the comment by friends or relatives that they were unaware of major aspects of the departed’s life. Or what they thought they knew was wrong. Friends of Sgt. Gene Vance Jr., who was recently killed in Afghanistan, knew he was strong and vigorous and loved challenges but were surprised to learn he was in the Special Forces, for instance.

Everybody has secrets. But few of us pause to ponder the real message of those puzzled people quoted in the newspaper: We often misjudge others, even some close to us, on incomplete information. At no time is that more apparent than during this annual season of reunions--the school kind, these days, and later in the summer, the family kind.

Reunions aren’t for everyone. Many dodge them as useless attempts to recapture youth and stale memories or as unwelcome reminders of unhappy times. Others approach the get-togethers cautiously but curiously, like returning to a childhood home to see how the familiar place and that frontyard sapling have weathered the years.

The fifth, 10th and 15th school reunions can be forced affairs with classmates more eager to impress than to learn about others. Later--say, the 30th or 40th--reunions seem more personally revealing about character, the welcome wisdom that comes accidentally with passing time and the inevitable vagaries of accumulating years. Everyone is much older by then--and can’t hide it. There’s more comfort with who we are and what we have or have not done. The tales of yesteryear are perhaps taller, and fonder. But it’s not what you’re recounting that matters so much as that you’re sharing the story. Alums who once spent four formative years together now share two formulaic days and an unspoken celebration of simply surviving.

These reunions contain several categories of attendees--those who live vividly in our memory, those who hover vaguely in the shadows of time and strangers who look like aging newcomers. Attending spouses deserve medals for patience. Typically, the class leaders of yore remain the leaders today, but are quieter. The wilder, louder pals from before remain, well, the same, only less so. But the nerds, who weren’t called that then, turn out to be awfully good people; in fact, they can be a whole lot more interesting now than the ones who seemed so captivating so long ago. A few classmates are gone; others struggle with health. Silently, class members share duties pushing the wheelchair, making space at the table and wordlessly delaying the class photo till their newly stubborn old friend arranges the blanket over his malfunctioning legs.

Nothing there worthy of Page 1. But not insignificant lessons to acquire on a May weekend, even this long and this far out of the classrooms of youth.