This is Your Life (or mine)

I went to my high school reunion looking not only for connection, but to come clean as well. I've woken up thinking about Frank telling me he couldn't find my picture in the yearbook, wondering if perhaps I'd missed some bit of rudeness or an intentional jab, but all I can come up with is an unintentional compliment. For some reason unknown to me, he was expecting me to be there this weekend and had actually looked for me in the yearbook. This is one of the guys that 90% of the girls had a mad crush on 41 years ago. He was nice looking, but not one of my crushes. To the best of my recollection, he never acknowledged me, until the reunion (He was a somewhat quiet kind of guy.) , so the fact that he sought me out and asked the question is accepted as complimentary. Now I'm finding myself more concerned about the friend who, in her effort to protect me from prying questions, may have inadvertently steered people away from me. I wanted them to ask questions, but hardly anyone did.

After the reunion was over, I posted this on their Facebook page. For those who wondered and didn't ask. For those who asked someone other than me, for those who didn't ask but were told something anyway, for those who have known all along, and for those who didn't even remember me. It's not "water under the bridge" as one friend put it. It is my story and it deserves to be told.

 

Although I started kindergarten in Webster (I was part of the group who walked to Spry from Indian Village for a week or so when the school budget didn't pass in 1969) and attended Webster School for all of that time, I ended up not graduating with the Class of 1982. It's one of those things I've grieved silently for years. When the Class of 1981 was graduating on June 20, I was getting married. Our first son was born in Albuquerque, NM that September. We would go on to be married for well over 30 years. In that time we had seven beautiful children. I received my GED after our third child was born, not quite the same as a regular diploma but it brought a small sense of closure at the time.

 

Today I am back in Indian Village, living in the tiny ranch my parents called home my entire childhood, looking out the front window at one lonely Webster water tank where there used to be two. Our children are grown and we have more grandchildren than most of you could imagine. (I have a hard time imagining it myself...) 

 

I am so grateful to have been included in last night's gathering of the Class of 1982. The sixteen year old Martha thanks you. (And the 17 year old one too.) Thank you to each one who signed my 40 year old yearbook. It's no longer completely empty. I'm looking forward to seeing last night's pictures and meeting up with some of you for lunch or coffee in the future.

Martha

 

The mind is still settling. It was quite the weekend in more ways than one.