50th group birthday...

I got to spend tonight with a small percentage of my graduating class celebrating our collective 50th birthdays. Men and women from the class of 1972 of Sanger High School, a small farming town in central California, gathered together on Keith Nilmier's farm to eat, drink some wine and pop, dance, sing, and remember some old stories.

Some of the crassest people loved on me tonight. Some quiet ones that I never thought remembered me, they walked up and gave me a hug and a kiss. There was lots of kissing. Not making out, just fondness for each other. I kissed Mark Adanalian on the lips. Italian to Armenian. I have known Mark since kindergarten, a dear friend who lost his wife a few years back and who now is suffering with MS. A kiss seemed appropriate.

Friends. Old friends. Friends who are losing spouses, parents. Friends who didn't return because of illness unto death. We talked of old times, of new marriages and recent divorces, children and their children, our children's colleges and dreams, our own dreams and accomplishments - some still to accomplish, we talked a lot about God.

Some are writers, doctors, radio announcers (I listened to one on the radio on the way home just now on KLOV), wives, mothers, widows, farmers, educators, salesmen, and one camp guy. Money was raised for scholarships, a bottle of wine was signed by us all for the last member to drink after the rest of us are dust, emails and addresses kept. We were heavier, balder, smarter, wiser, softer, and more loving. Even the crass ones were more loving. Old girlfriends asked about my wife with genuine interest and we talked of their husbands and children. A lot of drama back then that seemed like the end of the world opened to new worlds. No one was trying to impress, only remember and reconnect.

A quiet woman that I grew up with from elementary through high school, Lillian Torres, came up and gave me a delightful hug. She said she was so honored that I remembered her. I remembered her. I was honored that she thought anything of me. Isn't it funny how we think of our selves before these events. She is taking care of her mother who is in the later stages of Alzheimer's. Many were taking care of parents in later stages of many things. We all seemed to understand that part of this season of life.

It was a grand time. We bragged a little, cried a little, hugged a lot, took a long time to say good bye to those who had to leave early - this may be the last time we see them. We stood out in the middle of the country road before the last said good bye. It was hard to say good bye when we just said hello a few hours before.

There was some who chose not to come because of bad feelings from the past, that was sad, they missed out on a lot of grace and forgiveness. My anxiety walking up was soon dissipated by the first person to yell out my name. They remember me...