Oh my goodness - I am still processing the experience of meeting my 8th grade colleagues 50 years later. I had not seen most of them since we were 14 and we all had changed a bit. We each did the usual reunion move: kiss the person on the cheek while surreptitiously glancing at their name tag with their 8th grade photo prominently displayed . . . it's him! . . . it's her!
We met in the school's large hall (auditorium) and, to me, Mount Carmel never looked more beautiful. The original school, built in 1885 (at another location) was replaced in the 1920s by the current school building. It has classic mission architecture with all the beautiful woodwork typical of that era. I could not believe that the hallways had the same linoleum we ran along. Now that is quality! How many thousands of student feet have walked/run/skipped along these floors? The classrooms were just as I remembered with the exception of the windows - those old ones that required the use of long poles to open and close had been replaced by more efficient ones - oh, and there was carpet on the floors and the blackboards were now white. Gone were the erasers that we begged to clean each afternoon. What fun we had pounding them together while watching chalk dust float overhead. I was delighted to see that the "cloak rooms"(what do they call them now?) - a long closet that ran along the back of each classroom with an opening at each end - were unchanged. There were the same hooks where we hung our coats and the shelves above where we stored our lunch boxes. Wonderful.
50 of us started first grade together in September of 1954. Over the next 8 years a few moved away while a few others moved into our class. After 8 years together, however, we knew each other well. We knew our talents, our weaknesses, our families, our stories. About 25 of us attended the reunion. We spent the first 30 seconds of each interaction mentally adjusting to the new reality of a classmate who looked so different 50 years ago. Then there was the quick exchange of basic information and, if we were lucky, we were able to chat a bit more.
Those who had, for 8 years in the far past, shared lessons, sports, games, choir practice, recess, folk dance lessons, gossip, projects, and adolescence were now lawyers, teachers, nuns, a film producer, medical professionals, designers, non-profit leaders, small business owners, spouses, widows, divorced, parents and grandparents. Some were retired or planning for it; others had decided to use this time to start second careers. It was fascinating. When we shared thoughts over dinner we realized we had something in common, something that the nuns had pounded into our skulls over the 8 years they had us - that we are on this planet to make the world a better place. Seeking social justice came up over and over in our conversations. I am downright proud of us as are, I am sure, those gracious, stern, funny, warm women who taught us.
Oh, and I forgot - not only were 25 of us there - so were two of our teachers - Sister Cecilia (first grade) and Sister Andrew (second grade). I suspect they were just out of college when they taught us which puts them in their early 80s. It was wonderful to chat with them and thank them for their care. They also had funny stories to share. What I personally remember most about Sister Andrew is that one of her lessons showed how I was still a bit behind my classmates when it came to spirituality. It happened on the day of our First Communion when we were 7. She told us that, on this special day, we should ask God for something when we first spotted the chalice inside the open tabernacle. Okay, I could do that. After Mass she asked us what we had each prayed for. The others got it - they asked for world peace, to get to heaven, etc. At that point in my life I hadn't yet learned how to avoid telling unpleasant truths. Instead I admitted that I had asked for a bicycle. I think, way back then, Sister Andrew was a bit disappointed. However, I should state that I got my bike a few months later so clearly God was listening.
Specific memories from this wonderful evening:
1. The whoops of laughter and welcome that met each of us as we walked into the hall and someone recognized us and called out our name to the assembled group.
2. After first being surprised by the current reality of a classmate I could still see reminders of each of their 14-year old faces looking back at me.
3. The wonderful hugs I got from each classmate as if 50 years had never passed.
4. The comment blurted from one of my classmates, after understanding who I was, "Oh, you were one of the nice ones!" So funny.
5. New secrets shared by some classmates. Today, of course, topics of secrets are far different but sharing them still lifts weight and I deeply appreciated their trust.
6. Seeing classmates exhibit behaviors that I remembered from the past - Mary still blushes a bit when she laughs. Steve still has the sardonic attitude that drove some of the nuns crazy. Several of the "boys" still tease each other as they did in years past. Ah, the joys of consistency.
It was simply a wonderful evening but DRAT, I just wish we had many more hours - it ended way too soon.
We met in the school's large hall (auditorium) and, to me, Mount Carmel never looked more beautiful. The original school, built in 1885 (at another location) was replaced in the 1920s by the current school building. It has classic mission architecture with all the beautiful woodwork typical of that era. I could not believe that the hallways had the same linoleum we ran along. Now that is quality! How many thousands of student feet have walked/run/skipped along these floors? The classrooms were just as I remembered with the exception of the windows - those old ones that required the use of long poles to open and close had been replaced by more efficient ones - oh, and there was carpet on the floors and the blackboards were now white. Gone were the erasers that we begged to clean each afternoon. What fun we had pounding them together while watching chalk dust float overhead. I was delighted to see that the "cloak rooms"(what do they call them now?) - a long closet that ran along the back of each classroom with an opening at each end - were unchanged. There were the same hooks where we hung our coats and the shelves above where we stored our lunch boxes. Wonderful.
50 of us started first grade together in September of 1954. Over the next 8 years a few moved away while a few others moved into our class. After 8 years together, however, we knew each other well. We knew our talents, our weaknesses, our families, our stories. About 25 of us attended the reunion. We spent the first 30 seconds of each interaction mentally adjusting to the new reality of a classmate who looked so different 50 years ago. Then there was the quick exchange of basic information and, if we were lucky, we were able to chat a bit more.
Those who had, for 8 years in the far past, shared lessons, sports, games, choir practice, recess, folk dance lessons, gossip, projects, and adolescence were now lawyers, teachers, nuns, a film producer, medical professionals, designers, non-profit leaders, small business owners, spouses, widows, divorced, parents and grandparents. Some were retired or planning for it; others had decided to use this time to start second careers. It was fascinating. When we shared thoughts over dinner we realized we had something in common, something that the nuns had pounded into our skulls over the 8 years they had us - that we are on this planet to make the world a better place. Seeking social justice came up over and over in our conversations. I am downright proud of us as are, I am sure, those gracious, stern, funny, warm women who taught us.
Oh, and I forgot - not only were 25 of us there - so were two of our teachers - Sister Cecilia (first grade) and Sister Andrew (second grade). I suspect they were just out of college when they taught us which puts them in their early 80s. It was wonderful to chat with them and thank them for their care. They also had funny stories to share. What I personally remember most about Sister Andrew is that one of her lessons showed how I was still a bit behind my classmates when it came to spirituality. It happened on the day of our First Communion when we were 7. She told us that, on this special day, we should ask God for something when we first spotted the chalice inside the open tabernacle. Okay, I could do that. After Mass she asked us what we had each prayed for. The others got it - they asked for world peace, to get to heaven, etc. At that point in my life I hadn't yet learned how to avoid telling unpleasant truths. Instead I admitted that I had asked for a bicycle. I think, way back then, Sister Andrew was a bit disappointed. However, I should state that I got my bike a few months later so clearly God was listening.
Specific memories from this wonderful evening:
1. The whoops of laughter and welcome that met each of us as we walked into the hall and someone recognized us and called out our name to the assembled group.
2. After first being surprised by the current reality of a classmate I could still see reminders of each of their 14-year old faces looking back at me.
3. The wonderful hugs I got from each classmate as if 50 years had never passed.
4. The comment blurted from one of my classmates, after understanding who I was, "Oh, you were one of the nice ones!" So funny.
5. New secrets shared by some classmates. Today, of course, topics of secrets are far different but sharing them still lifts weight and I deeply appreciated their trust.
6. Seeing classmates exhibit behaviors that I remembered from the past - Mary still blushes a bit when she laughs. Steve still has the sardonic attitude that drove some of the nuns crazy. Several of the "boys" still tease each other as they did in years past. Ah, the joys of consistency.
It was simply a wonderful evening but DRAT, I just wish we had many more hours - it ended way too soon.
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