A half a century later how much could we change? 1973-2023

Saturday was going to be a very 1973 kind of night. I attended my 50th High School reunion.

Though I publicly contemplated on Facebook wearing my Landlubber Jeans and Huckapoo shirt to the reunion, I  was quickly admonished by the classmate running the event, who pleaded with me to wear a skirt, somehow missing my sarcasm.

In May a visit to my high school in Frankin Square, New York was revelatory and moving. I felt that this was enough of an homage to this big anniversary. But as the class reunion approached, I realized I might regret not attending to this bit of personal history.

Thirty years ago, before social media, a 50th high school reunion would have been really daunting. Not laying eyes on someone since they were 18 would have been fairly jolting.

Saturday night there were friends I have not seen in real life in nearly half a century but because of Facebook I have reconnected and in many ways caught up with their lives, followed their joys, their celebrations, and the day-to-day minutia of life. All without speaking a word.

That evening there were dear friends whose familiar voice and laugh I had not heard in so long but were instantly recognizable. Facial expressions and knowing glances long imprinted in my memory registered so familiar. Time dissolved in those moments. and I could just as well have been laughing in our suburban teenage bedroom where secrets, gossip, and fears were once shared.

There were of course those I didn’t recognize, nor recognize their name despite my due diligence in studying my yearbook before I went to the event. In fact, as I entered the party room and surveyed the crowd, I wasn’t certain that I hadn’t walked into another high school reunion from another Long Island school. There were so many unfamiliar faces.

Passage of time may have been a factor, but the fact is back then we all had our cliques.

But even if our paths rarely crossed other than sharing a noisy lunchroom or crowded hallway, there was at the reunion an overall feeling of kindness, a generosity of spirit, and an understood connection because of this shared 6-year experience. Because mine was a junior-senior high school, from ages 12 to 18 we moved through puberty together sharing a day-to-day life in this one building.

Grade School John Street 1967 Sixth Grade. Sally Edelstein second row second from right

In fact, the whole trajectory of my childhood schooling could be found in this one room. There were a handful who were in my grade school, Hebrew school, and even several from my kindergarten class, whose faces today still conjure up the black and white class picture from 1960.

Oct 21. 2023 50th High School Reunion Grade school classmates

The political divisiveness that had become apparent in my former classmates’ Facebook posts beginning in the Trump years was disturbing. In fact that had been my hesitation in going to the reunion. A room full of right-leaning, Fox-watching, MAGA supporters held little appeal.

But that night, politics was blessedly left at the door.

It wasn’t a red party, it wasn’t a blue party.

It was just a party.

The polarizing political strife and ideologies were put on hold as soon as we pinned on our identifying name tags. Our common history and bond as classmates were all that mattered.

If only it was that easy for America.