BACK TO MY ROOTS
Whomever said you can’t go home again, had it right. Nevertheless, it is insightful to try.
On Saturday, the 25th, Ken and I attended a class reunion with a few of the 49 graduates of the class of 1950 from what was at that time the French Lick Springs High School. The school districts of West Baden and French Lick were merged together in 1957 and a new school, the Springs Valley High School, was built. The school from which I graduated ceased to exist. An annual Alumni Banquet is held on the last Saturday of June where, in spite of diminishing numbers, a few brave graduates meet to “break bread” and share memories of their school days. Through the years I have attended only three such festivities, in 1988, 2000 and 2005. Many choose not to attend these sessions because they find it depressing to see the aging process in others. I long ago gave up on retaining my youth while seeking a state of “ultimate wisdom”. Thus, the fact that I no longer recognize those of my age with whom I shared my youth bothers me not. Nor am I disappointed or upset that they return the “honor” and do not recognize me. It is true that the aging process is more flattering to some than others and therein lies the yardstick for humility or vindication, as the case may be.
Between the class reunion and the alumni banquet, the brief view back into time spurred my memories of many somber times that accompanied my youth years, World War II, the loss of a parent, academic successes (and failures) but always, my memory page carries the banner of happy times spent with the good friends and neighbors from my youth. Our life was simple, our coffers lean but our larder blossomed with the bounty of the land and our “community” looked after its own. We found our enjoyment in each other and the friendships that we derived from sharing our burdens, disappointments, dreams and visions. Some of us left the area, others stayed behind. When I return “home” to my roots, I am reminded that no matter where we have been, what we have done or accomplished, those who stayed behind enjoy the same sense of fulfillment or lack thereof as those who spread their wings and sought success elsewhere. My fellow classmates and alumni all brought to the event their special memories and achievements. When day is done we can measure our success by goals achieved (lofty or simple) but real happiness can be found in our sense of fulfillment and contentment with the life we have achieved. I am sorry for those who can not or do not take the time to “smell the roses of the past” or stop to bask in their good fortunes.
We have been out of “easy web” access so my next contribution will cover a summary of our Indiana visit hopefully, with visual effects.
