Reunited
It feels so good.
In last week's newsletter, I told you a story about the importance of human connection. Even when we're old, have dementia, and live in a nursing home, we still seek to connect to each other. In case you missed it, read it here.
Here's another example of our interconnection, but in reverse.
This year I will commemorate my 45-year grade school reunion.
Elementary school reunions are rare. My friends and family haven't been to a single one. They smile and nod when I tell them about mine.
You see, the Resurrection of our Lord Class of 1977 is different. It holds reunions every five years. Out of approximately a hundred students, 50 attended our last reunion. This number included a handful of lay teachers, a few Sisters of St. Joseph (SSJ), and even our old principal.
Every go-round, we get better at finding classmates. Because of improved technology, we root around and scoop up more old friends. Of course, a few don't want to be discovered or reconnect.
The rest of us prize our reunions. I do, too, even though I couldn't wait to graduate and get away from the 8th-grade boys. They were that annoying.
In June 1977, we graduated and scattered our separate ways.
During our formative years, many things happened to us collectively and individually. Some events were life-altering.
Of course, we had fun times. But I don't remember what they were.
Like all the other schools, we had kind and gentle teachers; then we had the screamers. We had the old nuns past their prime, squirting us with holy water. We crossed our fingers that we would get the young pretty lay teachers in our next school year.
As first graders, a particularly sadistic nun verbally and physically abused us. It was a horrible introduction to learning for innocent children. This child abuser left the SSJ order and married. How many children she damaged, we'll never know.
I remember tidal waves of sadness when classmates lost parents or siblings. Those same children became submerged in their grief and were never the same.
Some students had learning disabilities. During the 70s, children got held back when they hadn't mastered the grade material. That's how the school administration dealt with poor academic performance. I imagine the shame the students felt watching their classmates move ahead.
Male students sat in the hallways because teachers gave up on them. I remember the same boys heading to the principal's office or staying in dark classrooms after school every day. It wasn’t until last year that I found out about how the boys had been physically abused by staff.
My worst memory was the sound of an unforgettable heart-rending scream. An 8th-grade student had been raped in a stairwell at school. The sound of her hysteria came through the P. A. system as the panicked secretary paged the principal.
She was gone from school for a long time after that. When she returned, she was a shell of the girl she had been.
I guess I could conjure a happy memory of my time there if I tried. If I’m honest, I don’t want to try.
Our class meets again in the fall of 2022, and we won't be talking about any of the things I wrote here. We will bask in a bond impervious to time. There will be much to discuss as now aging adults. Happy times from back then will invariably surface.
It doesn't make sense. It makes every sense.
Our connection will last a lifetime.
YOGA
We finished our four-week yoga series. Stay tuned for details on a new series starting soon!
BOOK CLUB
The book for April is “The Friends We Keep,” by Jane Green. We will meet on Monday, April 11th at 7 p.m. to discuss. Read about the book here.
This is the second to last book club before we take our summer break. We hope you’ll join us. Sign up for the Zoom link here.