The Reunion. I could hear “Taxi” by Harry Chapin playing on the DJ’s sound system as I opened the double doors to the banquet room. I was early, in fact, I was the first person to arrive except for Brenda who was working the registration table. While I had kept up with a few of my classmates over the years, many I had not. I was nervous about speaking to everyone after 50 years. Brenda and I hugged as I said hello. “Are you ready?” she asked.
“I think so, but I will be very, very brief. OK?”
“I have never known a college professor to be brief about anything.” She laughed. “Take a look around. The committee did a great job putting the reunion together.”
“Mama Told Me Not to Come” by Three Dog Night started playing. I laughed to myself and thought perhaps someone is trying to tell me something. I then remembered the infamous recording of me singing this song in the summer between our sophomore and junior years. Thank goodness Facebook didn’t exist back then and the recording is nowhere to be found today.
I walked around the room and looked at all the memorabilia from grade school, junior high, and high school. There was a table with old copies of the local newspaper with historical events that we lived through for our first 18 years such as the missile crisis, the assassination of President Kennedy, the Beatles on Ed Sullivan, the Tet Offensive in Vietnam, the assassinations of Martin Luther King and Robert Kennedy, the moon landing, students shot by the National Guard at Kent State, and the Marshall University plane crash. There was a table with all of our yearbooks on it. I thumbed through our senior year book. Wow, we were so young and so full of hope! There were plenty of trophies, certificates, copies of our high school newspaper, copies of essays written for a creative writing class, an old vinyl record of our high school band featuring the Three Dog Night song “Joy to the World,” and a few books that some of us had authored since graduation.
More noticeable were the pictures that many had donated for the reunion. Four in particular struck a chord with me. One was a picture of our little league state championship team on top of a firetruck after arriving home from our victory. But we weren’t the only ones in the picture. Our three coaches were on the truck with us. They had literally taken off work and taken all their vacation time that summer to make sure we were ready for tournament play. They had driven us in their own cars at their own expense to all the games across the state. We were with them more than our parents for those several weeks. All of the other coaches from the league were also in the picture. These were coaches who had spent hours and hours teaching us the fundamentals of baseball and the life values of hard work, sacrifice, and team effort. Many of them had been coaching for several years, even after their own kids had grown up. There were all the parents and others who had volunteered to keep our prized little league field in top condition, update the scorebooks, serve everyone at the refreshment stand, and recruit local businesses to sponsor the teams. There were our parents who always took the time to come to the games and to help in practices. There were our mothers who raised money to purchase new uniforms for the entire league. There were our fathers and uncles who had originally taught us to catch, throw, and hit a baseball. There were public officials who had helped fund the little league. There were the business owners who sponsored the teams. There were the firemen who came in on their day off to let us ride the firetruck around town. It was not just a picture of our team but an image of our community.
There was a picture of our proud high school marching band in front of the bus that brought them back from one of the famous Thanksgiving Day parades. Besides the band members and the majorettes, there were teachers, parents, and volunteers in the picture. The beloved band director who had put together one of the finest and largest bands in the country was in the center of the picture. There were the parents who had raised enough money to take the entire band to participate in the Thanksgiving Day parade and who faithfully volunteered to work the concession stands during football games. Like the picture of our little league baseball team, it was not just a picture of the band but a reflection of our community.
There was a large photo of our state championship football team and cheerleaders with our fans rushing the field after our victory on that cold day in Beckley. You could see the team moms who had sold enough pies the year before to purchase new jerseys. Our fathers and others who had volunteered for hours and hours throughout the summer and fall to make sure the football field was ready to play were in the photo. You could see the members of our marching band who had supported us all year. The coaching staff, including our head coach and assistant coach, could be seen hugging players and shaking hands with parents. Business owners who had donated money to pay for the team busses that took us to the championship game were in the picture. Just like the other two pictures, it was not just a picture of the football team but a portrait of our community.
The final picture that jumped out at me juxtaposed three photos. The first was of our grand, old football stadium that our community watched us play on Friday nights for so many years. The bleachers were packed full of our parents, grandparents, relatives, and other community members who had actually built the old bleachers and the stadium. The second was a picture of the concrete bleachers of the old stadium being torn down just a few years ago. The final was a picture of the new bleachers during the memorial to our legendary head coach and assistant coach. The new bleachers were filled with my classmates and members of several other classes primarily from the baby boom generation. They were the very ones who had built the new bleachers for their children.
Several of my classmates began to arrive. I tried not to be too obvious but I have to admit that there were a few that I had to look at the name tag first. We hugged and talked just like it was the day after we graduated. We told stories and laughed at old times. We talked about what we had been doing since graduation. Those who still lived in our small community talked about how they had come together to not only rebuild the new football bleachers and stadium but to save and remodel the old basketball field house. They talked about the continued success of the little league program and its volunteer base. Those of us who had moved away talked about volunteering for and coaching little league baseball and football and serving our new communities in so many different capacities. At some point in all the conversations we talked about our parents and we noted how hard they worked to make our community the wonderful place it was in which to grow up. We talked about the dreams we had for our own children and grandchildren.
I finally looked at the list of those attending the reunion with their brief biographies. What did I see? Community volunteers, coaches, teachers, teacher-assistants, preachers, healthcare workers, parents, foster parents, grandparents, school bus drivers, business owners, and veterans. What did I see? I saw our parents. We had become our parents. We had made a significant difference not only here in the small community in which we had grown up but also in the different communities in which some of us now lived. We had made a positive difference in the lives of our family members, friends, community members, and young people. Why had we done this? We had learned from the actions of our own parents and community members. It was who we are.
Later that evening I walked up to the podium to speak and looked out at all the faces. I first saw the faces of our parents. Then those faces faded to become the faces of our youth. And then they became the faces of today. Despite time and distance, the desire to make a difference in the lives of the next generation and to create a strong sense of community is what we learned from our parents, what we share today, and what we will pass on to our children. I tore up the notes I had prepared for my original speech and began…
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