Senior Chords . . .

At long last, my age may be getting to me. Maybe it's that Mr. Wonderful and I increasingly play a game similar to "Who Wore It Best?" except we call it "Who Remembered It First?" Or that we only count "misses" on "Jeopardy" if we think we actually knew the answer once upon a time.

Then there's my approaching high school reunion. Fifty. Yes, FIFTY years. I will not even try to convince anyone that I was a genius who graduated at age 12. I wasn't. And even if I had been, I would still be old now!

The Class of '68 numbered about 320 "cheerleaders," "jocks," "brains," and "popular kids." Now, there about 30 classmates we can't find. Hopefully they are well and happy and intentionally flying under the radar "just because" (no felons - kidding!).

More alarming is that other list. Our deceased classmates. About 50 of them.  How can that be? Their 18-year-old faces, bright, shiny, and headed for the future, are a vivid memory still.  (Note: most of those pictured below are still among the living. Do not, I repeat, do NOT assume you failed to notice your own demise because you are in a photo.)

Even after all these years, our dearly departed Gladiators leave a hole in our hearts. I so wanted to hear how their stories turned out. We were all part of the same story all those years ago. Many of us knew these classmates from grade school days. Even who cried at kindergarten nap time.

And who slipped the straps of her Mary Janes under her feet to look like pumps! (bottom row, left, Carol P.).

Now some of their stories are done. Unknown to most of us. I hope that they had good lives, good people in their lives. That they used their talents. I will miss them at our reunion. 

Lastly, I will miss all those "found" classmates who aren't attending. Some can't, of course, but many will choose not to. Don't worry, guys, we promise not to assume you look really old (heh-heh).

As to those of us lucky enough to be there (including several favorite teachers!), here are my prayers for us:

• That the font on our name tags really is large enough for us to read (taking a pocket flashlight just in case). 
• That just for a bit, the years will fall away as we will relive old times.
• That we share long-forgotten stories (hopefully not the same one over and over).
• That we catch up with old friends (or, if memory fails, make new ones!!).
• That we know how blessed we were to be the Class of '68. 

Senior year, we loved being the envy of the underclassmen, as we sported navy pullovers and Senior Cords - wheat-colored corduroy pants or skirts. Could not wash 'em. Signed and drawn on - even in a few then scandalous places. It was a great time to be in high school.

Now we are a different class of "seniors." Here's hoping the memories still strike a pleasant chord. (I know, cheesy.)

And there is comfort in knowing that all of us are now 68 years old. We started out together. And those of us blessed enough to still be here are fifty years older. Together.

Way to go, Class of '68! See you soon. I can hardly wait.