Being There: Part I - Getting There
There is nothing like returning to a place that is unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered. ~ Nelson Mandela
Morbidly enough, even though I was never one who placed a lot of stock in the message and meaning of a high school existence, in all actuality, if asked I would have gladly skipped the whole event and gone straight to college; I was one who was a bit excited for my ten-year class reunion. What’s more, I some how volunteered to organize the entire event with the help of a few motivated classmates, none of whom were class officers, ironically enough. While I had not broached the subject to myself, my classmates at the reunion, which was held earlier this month, wasted no time doing just that: why had I undertaken this task? I suppose that I could have granted them the shallow response of saying that it was only to show off the beautiful bi-racial girl on my arm and how I had surprised (more or less) the general public by becoming whatever it is that I’ve become, but that would be a rather slow mockery of my actual reasoning.
Truth was that I didn’t really know why I started it other than it was just the right thing to do and that it needed doing. Perhaps that’s what near ten years of military training has left me with, among other things: an over-active sense of duty. Who can say for sure? I know that I have talked myself near horse over this past month trying to put to words my various points of view out directed towards a general whomever-is-listening audience. I guess the dime version of the story is that the friendships forged in youth, whatever they are worth at the time, actually do gain interest over the long run. I am fairly certain that I knew that and rather than argue it until I was blue in the face as I do most things, I decided to show rather than tell for once. I was decidedly pleased with the outcome.
The overall reunion was marked as ‘good’ with about a third of the class showing up at any one time. Regardless and more important, I feel is that there was a sense of being caught up and renewal of old bonds with those that did show up, which will undoubtedly trickle down to those whom were unable to attend. People seemed concerned to see whom had moved on, moved up, or moved away. Even more pleasing was a few members of the old high school faculty showed up for the final event and drinks, which I know pleased more than just myself.
The whole event was an enriching way to enter into what was to become a month long vacation, from which I just returned. The remaining trip back in the
Maine that raised me from cradle to college was as it always is; a short run over the same ground that in someway remains yours regardless of time, space, or area code. The same faces greet you even if some faces have moved away or left this world entirely and must smile from afar. The saying is that things and events are tied to a place in time. I reason; if a place is for all time, then aren’t the people that may have been so much a part of them?
Still, these trips are both too long and too short. Maybe they’re too long because I know that somewhere in me I know that it is no longer my home… and maybe they’re too short because I know that somewhere in me I know that it is no longer my home.
We left Maine for Boston. We left Boston for Dublin, Ireland. After a day, we left Dublin for Glasgow, Scotland. After a day, we left Glasgow for the capital city of Edinburgh. There, the trip started.
