The convention room at the St. Louis Park Doubletree is filled with 68 year-olds. They are standing together, talking or milling about and laughing; putting purses on tables, and coats on chairs to sit with old friends. The name tags have both their names and their graduation picture from the Warrior Yearbook, class of ‘59. However, the Warriors have fought their last battle and are no more. Their politically incorrect name could not be tolerated in today’s world. Hopkins now plays as “The Royals”. But that doesn’t have the same ring, does it?
I study the faces of my wife’s old classmates and try to imagine what they looked like at 18. I fail miserably. All those old women were so very pretty!! Their fresh smiles and ‘50s curls show vibrantly on the name tags. And the guys! Wrinkled faces with white to no hair were once crew cut, chiseled and handsome.
The evening of is scheduled for cold hors d’oeuvres, warm hors d’oeuvres, and dessert to be served an hour apart. No dancing, no real program. As we leave for the evening, I’m thankful that we’ll be going as three couples, attending with two of Hermie’s best highschool friends and their husbands. We’ve stayed in touch and visited over the years, and we three guys will, at least, be able to sit and relate to each other.
But that was not to be.
I found my self enchanted, talking with so many of those older men and women. This metaphor came to me:
On the outside, they were all old wine skins. Wrinkled and showing their age. However, under that skin, their souls and their personality had aged like good red wine. Their decades of wisdom mellowed them. The qualities that count; the aroma, color, and clarity, have all transformed.
One said to another, “You have so grown over the years”
“And you, too!”
By their 50th, they have been through it all and survived. There is no more need for posturing, for facades or fronts. All is as it is - all that it will ever be. There is no need for competition, for stories of what one is going to achieve or how successful one will be – the discussions that could have filled their 20th or 30th reunions.
Karen says, “Somehow we’re all the same.” It’s as if one were a good Chardonnay or Merlot he/she will remain a good Chardonnay or Merlot. Improving, but not changing.
Axel laughs easily and remains endearing. He has a little white mustache now and looks elfin. A classmate asks him, “Were you first or were you second in our class?” Axel pauses, “Oh, I was first, but to be honest, I think it should have gone to Laurel. We both got all A’s but she was smarter.”
Others there, as Hermie and I have been, have been married nearly 50 years. And I remark that when a marriage lasts that long the woman deserves a lot of credit. As I talk with Anna, I say, “Well, lasting as long as we both have has taken some compromising, hasn’t it? And it is harder, I think, for the average woman to spend 50 years with the average man, than it is for the man to spend that time with a woman.”
Anna looks at me incredulously for a moment and then laughs, as if I have stated the obvious. She says, “Yes, it is only age that slows you guys down. Now it is easier. Over the years, we focus on your strengths and qualities, and that always keeps everything going.”
Some, of course, perhaps a third, had been divorced. Perhaps all marriages have nearly equal doses of pain, disappointment and trials. And a relationship ends when those problems are not balanced by the qualities of character and perseverance.
Throughout the evening I was filled with a bit of melancholy realizing these are people who lovingly accept that they likely will never see each other again. They are so honest and straight! Why not? There is nothing to lose. I wish we all lived closer and could somehow get to know them better. These are folks who would make good friends.
The goodbyes at a 50th reunion are meaningful. Smiles and tears; hugs and kisses. And then we walk out through the marble foyer of the Doubletree and it’s all over.
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