We're Good

True terror is to wake up one morning and discover that your high school class is running the country. 
—Kurt Vonnegut
 
Let's face it. No kid in high school feels as though they fit in. 
—Stephen King
 
I had a terrible education. I attended a school for emotionally disturbed teachers.
—Woody Allen

There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered. 
—Nelson Mandela

A few months ago, my sister and brother-in-law came to visit. They come often, Covid-19 permitting, and it's always wonderful when they do. 
I suspect that one of the reasons they visit me as often as they do is that it is a good opportunity to get rid of some of the stuff in their house. 
When my mother passed away, my sister, bless her, came into possession of all her stuff. This included all the stuff that my mother had come into possession of when her mother passed away. Now, each time my sister comes to visit, she brings with her something from the multitude of boxes she claims to have in her basement. It's not usually anything too terrible — the porcelain statuettes and thousands of candy dishes and serving bowls have already been discarded. Sometimes it's teacups, and sometimes pictures to hang on the wall. Once, it was a watch on which the numbers were too small to read. This time, it was just an envelope of old photographs, a typewritten acceptance letter from the University I did not attend, and the program of my high school graduation. 

Yep. 
I now had proof that I had graduated high school to show my kids (who were in doubt as to whether high school had been invented back then). 
When I first saw the program, I just laughed because why did anyone keep this? But as I held the paper in my hand, memories began to pour into my head almost as if they had been trapped within the print and my touch released them. I could see the building where I had spent 12 years of my life, the gym/auditorium where I had - very badly - played basketball and floor hockey, and, even more pathetically, attended dances. I remembered the yearbook room, where I had spent an entire year not going to class and was never looked for and never found. I remembered the teachers; the funny ones, the smart ones, the caring ones, and, especially, the not-always-sober ones. 
Most of all, I remembered my classmates. 
I had gone to the same school for 12 years, and most of my graduating class had been with me since the first day, (the school went from Grades 1 through 12 — we didn't spend 12 years in high school...). We started out as three classes of about 25 kids each; at graduation, we were one class of 24. My classmates were not only the people with whom I attended school, they were also my playmates, my colleagues, my friends, and my family. My classmates were the ones I gossiped with, laughed with, created with, dreamt with. They were the ones I confided in, who I complained to, and, sometimes, even cried with. 
I looked at the program in my hand. I noticed the date. Come spring, I realized, it would be 45 years since graduation. 
That was a hunk of time. 
Most of those classmates I haven't seen since that very graduation. We had all gone separate ways, living very different lives, very far apart. But, because this is the 21st century, it's relatively easy to be in touch if necessary, and I have remained so with a few of them via Facebook. One — M — checks in on me anytime anything falls from the Negev sky, i.e., two or three times a year. I always appreciate it more than I can say, all the more so, as throughout those 12 years of sharing a classroom, M and I were not especially close. But we were, as I said, family. 
So I contacted M. "We should get everyone together (who's still around...)," I wrote to him, "for a 45th Zoom reunion." M was IN!
I wrote a message to those classmates I was friends with on Facebook. 
Wouldn't it be a hoot, I asked them (or words to that affect) to get together for a Zoom reunion?
The response was immediate and very positive. 
I contacted a couple of others via email (SO 2012), M contacted others, others contacted still others and soon enough a WhatsApp group was formed. Of course, there were a few without WhatsApp (!!!!) and a few classmates we couldn't find. Of the 24 or so graduates, we had 16 confirmed attendees. (Five we couldn't find, two couldn't make it, and one had, very sadly, died several years previously.) A couple of others who had not actually graduated with us but had traveled with us most of the distance joined us. 
There was lots of back and forth; a date was decided on and then undecided on, as per custom. Another date was decided on. One classmate volunteered his Zoom account so that we would have unlimited time. Another set up a Google doc so that we could write what we've been up to in the past 45 years rather than waste time making the rounds on the Zoom.  
What I read on that Google doc was impressive. Some of my former classmates were in the medical professions, there was a musician, several educators (one who had taught in the very school we had graduated from), a few hi-tech types, a university professor (of physics! but nobody was surprised at that), and one who had made it in the world of entertainment and journalism. Just about everyone had one University degree, many had multiple degrees. Most were or had been married, most had children, some had grandchildren. A handful had remained in our hometown, the others had spread across the continent, living in several different cities. Two of us (one of them being me) are here in Israel.
We are all older. 
And I? I suddenly faltered at the idea of seeing these people again. What had I done in all this time? With all this time? I became queasy thinking about it. 
I felt about the same as I did on the day I had a Navi or Hebrew grammar test in Grade 7 (before I stopped caring). I wasn't prepared. I know nothing. The teachers hate me. Everybody will think I am a failure. I am a failure. 
Honestly. 45 years, and I'm still there.  
But I am not there. I am here. 
There is no test, I tell myself. There is no pass or fail. 
Life is not a contest. 

One doesn't have to be perfect to be good. 

I was good. I am good. 

I pushed the queasiness aside and began to look forward to seeing my old friends. 
Nonetheless, on the day of the reunion, my queasiness returned big-time, growing to full blown nausea. I flirted with not showing up, but only very briefly. Battling the nausea, I was also in a fever of excitement.
Because of time differences (10 hours), the reunion was scheduled for a Sunday, evening for me, morning for those on the North American West Coast. I spent the day doing laundry, strategically hanging it where it wouldn't be seen in the background of the Zoom. 
Nervously, I logged on, timing my entry so I wouldn't be the first and look too eager, or the last, and look as if I didn't care. Curiously, everyone seemed to be of the same mind, because within less than 7 minutes, we had 19 attendees, including one teacher. 
It was quite amazing. There were a few classmates I would not have recognized had I seen them in the street, but most haven't changed. We started out a bit stiffly, but soon conversation flowed, gossiping about schoolyard shenanigans, teachers, administrators, and parents. Some talked of events I had not been aware of or of people I couldn't remember. It seemed that the memories of the boys were significantly different than the memories of the girls. But none of that mattered. Here were 18 other people with whom I had spent a serious part of my life — a time of learning and experimenting, of growth and insecurities, of fun and boredom, of celebration and distraction, of friendships and memory making.  

High school never actually goes away. 

Our reunion lasted for over two hours, which didn't begin to cover all our news. We agreed not to let another 45 years pass before reuniting again. 

45 years is a considerable span of time. My high school graduation was 50% closer in time to the establishment of the State of Israel than it was to our reunion.  
I like to think that, though we aren't perfect, we're good, and we did our part to change the world. 

Thanks guys.