I was both nervous and excited before attending my 40th year high school reunion in Kansas City, Missouri the past weekend.
Some of my reunion reflections include:
The Bishop Hogan High School of 1967 morphed into the Hogan Preparatory Academy. Only memories of nuns as teachers exist, now that it is a public charter school. The new Hogan is composed of 99% African American students, all who will attend college and earn an average $20,000/year in college scholarships.
The fellow classmates, the Hoganites who graduated in 1967, are all the same, except in different packages – same needs, feelings, desires, fears, hopes and dreams.
I couldn’t recognize most classmates, unless I stared at their faces for awhile (not recommended). With the women’s dyed and graying hair and the balding men, I wondered “who are these old people?” (me included).
Other classmates and I feared attending the reunion, being uncomfortable with small talk, having to account for the last 40 years. Recalling teenage angst and feeling as though we didn’t belong in 1967, it didn’t seem to matter in 2007.
In 1967, there were numerous cliques in our class: the jocks, the nerds, the smart ones, the dumb ones, the popular ones, the unpopular ones, etc. In 2007, there were no noticeable cliques.
I was viewed as one of the “smart ones” but I frowned on those who weren’t members of the “smart” group.
There were at least three fellow classmates who were forbidden to sing out loud in our high school choir and forced to mouth the words to the songs. I thought it was just me that had a “flat voice.”
A classmate who I never would have pegged as adventurous spent a nine years sailing around the world with her husband.
Even a classmate who is a judge has a compassionate heart.
Classmates that seemed the happiest enjoyed their roles of grandparents. If we could only skip parenthood and move on to grandparenthood, that would be perfect.
With the deaths of seven classmates and illnesses of others, we have a greater appreciation of life.
Reconnecting with former classmates who now live in Colorado has been particularly meaningful for me. Several months ago, four of us discovered that we live in the same metro area and had a couple pre-reunion get-togethers. We are determined to maintain contact with each other and keep that Hoganite spirit alive.
I was both nervous and excited before attending my 40th year high school reunion in Kansas City, Missouri the past weekend.
Some of my reunion reflections include:
The Bishop Hogan High School of 1967 morphed into the Hogan Preparatory Academy. Only memories of nuns as teachers exist, now that it is a public charter school. The new Hogan is composed of 99% African American students, all who will attend college and earn an average $20,000/year in college scholarships.
The fellow classmates, the Hoganites who graduated in 1967, are all the same, except in different packages – same needs, feelings, desires, fears, hopes and dreams.
I couldn’t recognize most classmates, unless I stared at their faces for awhile (not recommended). With the women’s dyed and graying hair and the balding men, I wondered “who are these old people?” (me included).
Other classmates and I feared attending the reunion, being uncomfortable with small talk, having to account for the last 40 years. Recalling teenage angst and feeling as though we didn’t belong in 1967, it didn’t seem to matter in 2007.
In 1967, there were numerous cliques in our class: the jocks, the nerds, the smart ones, the dumb ones, the popular ones, the unpopular ones, etc. In 2007, there were no noticeable cliques.
I was viewed as one of the “smart ones” but I frowned on those who weren’t members of the “smart” group.
There were at least three fellow classmates who were forbidden to sing out loud in our high school choir and forced to mouth the words to the songs. I thought it was just me that had a “flat voice.”
A classmate who I never would have pegged as adventurous spent a nine years sailing around the world with her husband.
Even a classmate who is a judge has a compassionate heart.
Classmates that seemed the happiest enjoyed their roles of grandparents. If we could only skip parenthood and move on to grandparenthood, that would be perfect.
With the deaths of seven classmates and illnesses of others, we have a greater appreciation of life.
Reconnecting with former classmates who now live in Colorado has been particularly meaningful for me. Several months ago, four of us discovered that we live in the same metro area and had a couple pre-reunion get-togethers. We are determined to maintain contact with each other and keep that Hoganite spirit alive.