Wild and Wonderful
Fifty years ago, I left Charleston, West Virginia, leaving behind childhood and teenage memories. One year ago, we left Nashville and began the journey of our lifetime, a lifestyle switch that required us to open our minds, letting go of possessions, community, and once again saying goodbye to friends and family. This past month I was transported back to my former self with both pleasant and painful memories. Visiting Nashville and Charleston in the same week was an introspective look back at my childhood and our Nashville home of 40 years.
Now a Junior High, my alma mater.
The occasion was my 50th Stonewall Jackson High School reunion in Charleston. Yes, Stonewall Jackson… THE Stonewall Jackson whose likeness is disappearing faster than Cheetos at a Weight Watchers Convention.
Walking into that ballroom full of strange faces, I knew no one, but was familiar with everyone. Black and white yearbook photos of 17-year-old faces pasted to name badges triggered recollections of many who had not been thought of since graduation day. But a few of those badges had memories attached that were powerful. One person approached me waving his cellphone saying, “I’ve tried to get hold of you. You wrote something in my yearbook that was so meaningful to me. I’ve never forgotten it.” There on his phone was a photo of the handwritten message I had penned 50 years ago in the back of his yearbook. There was also an old flame who told me I was a “really good kisser.” I guess some people did remember me.
Becky and I visit the Capitol Building, home of my first job.
Becky and I drove through my old neighborhood, winding into the hills that triggered memories of the people, places and events that shaped who I am. We walked around the Capitol Building where I worked my first job. We visited my old church, drove past my elementary school and the place where my junior high once stood. Interstates and elevated off ramps erased places where I played. Paint peeled from our old house on Mathews Avenue. The once manicured yards were much smaller than I had remembered and the white picket fence was gone. Fifty years had not been kind to the old neighborhood.
At a fiftieth reunion, everyone is way-past trying to impress. The only bragging was about grandchildren. Identities were not hung on what one did, which side of the tracks you lived on or what car you drove… everyone was on the same playing field along with the cheerleaders and football players. There were designer clothes, some in their thrift-store best, and Becky and me in our REI finest. There were school teachers, doctors, an ICE agent, social workers and military vets, mostly all retired. Cell phones were busy recording faces pleated with age lines and proudly displaying grandchildren and even great grandchildren.
There in that room with dancing, conversing and celebrating, I found myself paralyzed by emotions. These people were me.
At The Greenbriar
I believe every phase of your life requires that you let go of your past. I have let go many times but the net gain has been the lessons of the painful and memories of the sublime. My craving for adventure is what propels me. It matters not which way I go, there seems to be adventure at every corner of the compass. Memories have taken me back but dreams will carry me forward. There are too many places to see and more memories to make.
I was once again at home in West Virginia because Home Is Where You Park It.
