This being my year of reunions, I had yet another. A month ago, I was with boys and girls who I thought had been consigned to the distant past. I hadn't seen most of them since we sang "Alma Mater" 29 years ago, when we stood stiff in our starched gala uniforms and said goodbye to grade school.
I went to "the other" high school soon after and promptly identified myself as un-Milagrosinian. I made friends with Pilot School and East Central School kids and forgot about Christian Living and other private school concerns. I went from a school with two sections (then categorized into Section White and Section Blue, the colors of the Milagrosinian uniform) to one with 19.
The other reunion had me revisiting territory that was almost forgotten. It was hard to imagine that these men and women were the boys and girls I exchanged Curly Tops and Pretzels and soapcases with during Christmas parties. Or that we "starred" in operettas together, wrote silly "dedications" in slam books and baked under the sun while playing Chinese garter.
It was hard to imagine that we were the same boys and girls years and years ago. But when we launched into our "remember whens" it was like going back to the old school. Heck, I even remembered the "Milagrosinian Hymn."
The other reunion was memorable not only because it afforded us the chance to laugh back at the absurdities of the past but because it brought us back in contact with each other. It was a joy to hear Padre Kiko (yes, the same boy who slugged it out with another classmate) say Mass, and it was a joy to lay out the welcome mat for those who hadn't been home in ages.
We are back to where we are now. Some of us are back to the grind, and some are back to where they now call home. We are, of course, all the richer for having met again.