A Reunion and an Answer

If you're going to attend your high school class reunion this year, or trying to decide if you want to, you might enjoy reading what I wrote about mine. I was honored when my Penn Hills High School class of 1962, in Pittsburgh, printed this piece on the back of the thank you letter they sent out after our 40th reunion in 2002. Other high school reunion committees in other states have also published this on their web sites to encourage their class members to return to their reunions.

A Reunion and an Answer

by

Renelle West (formerly Sharon Louise Hall, or Shari)

            I didn’t know why I was spending so much time and money to go to my 40th high school reunion, and for a day afterwards, I still didn’t know why. That was understandable for a few reasons. During my three student years at Penn Hills High School in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, I’d been an emotionally and academically unstable outsider, bereft of the group consciousness and school spirit that others in my class seemed to enjoy. Attending a reunion had never before seemed important until now. I’d even tossed out my yearbook somewhere a long time ago, so I had no way to roust up my memories before I went to the reunion. I’d known only a fraction of people in my class of 500, and while I recognized some names and faces, I had almost no memories to link to some of my newfound old friends at the reunion.

            Only after arriving home and discovering an old scrapbook was I able to identify those friends as being with me in band, chorus, drama club, and my church fellowship group. I also didn’t know the teacher, Mr. Bond, who was welcomed with a standing ovation at the reunion, but there in my scrapbook was his lengthy, impassioned letter, in which he explained to our senior class why it wouldn’t be a good idea to have a picnic the day after the all-night prom, when we’d be too tired to drive safely. He cared about us! We must have cared about him too, and about each other, because there was enough love, even for me, in that reunion room to sink the Titanic, if love had a measurable weight.

            No wonder only a deep silence prevailed when I asked myself the  “why” question. I decided it would be okay if I never knew the answer. Still, my images, emotions, and thoughts of that evening drifted around in my mind like a lazy snowfall, and finally gathered around me in a deep, magical drift. I call it magical because the answer to my question was in there, an answer I could not have predicted. I suddenly understood what most of my classmates probably already knew: that we were all valued members of a group that had been a significant part of our growth and preparation for life.

            For three intense years, we gathered and worked together in church fellowships and classrooms and on teams and committees. In physical education classes, we dressed, undressed, and showered together. We confided in each other and compared notes about the most personal parts of our lives. We ate lunch together every day and attended banquets for the various groups we participated in. We waited together in the dark at frozen bus stops, and wearily rode home together at the end of difficult days. We helped each other with homework, and quietly passed our papers on to classmates who were about to face the ultimate humiliation at their turn at the blackboard. We watched each other, talked about each other, and imitated those whom we admired. Grounded by our familiarity, we helped absorb the shock of tough situations. We created relationships, developed our skills and talents, discovered our abilities together, and formed our dreams and aspirations. And then from that place, we launched each other and ourselves out into the world.

            Today  in church, I knew that I am very different now than I was last week before the reunion. As I sang and accompanied myself on the keyboard, I looked at the people in the congregation whom I’ve served in the field of music for so many years, and finally understood that I’m not an outsider here, either. I’m a valued member of this group. The gifts I share with them had their beginnings with my high school classmates, and these same gifts have provided me with food, clothing, and shelter over the last three decades.

            In my high school years, I had no awareness of the importance of those relationships and experiences. I had to go to this reunion, with the perspective of 40 years of adult life on a bumpy road, to finally understand. 

© 2002 by Renelle West