I recently returned from my 40 year
class reunion which coincided with a family celebration for my mother’s 85th
birthday. There were two events. At one I wore a shirt with my RUARK 4
emblazoned on the back, at the other a name tag stating my name as Kathy Ruark
Rohloff.
I wore them with much
trepidation convinced that one of my two worse fears would be realized. 1. That someone would recognize me. 2. That no one would recognize me. After all it has been 40 years. If anyone has revisited old high school
photos you can understand my misgivings.
Before attending the first event, a
friend had counseled me to pay attention to eyes and smiles saying, “Those
things never change.”
My first encounter was
amazingly simple. I immediately
recognized and was recognized by two former classmates. We all agreed that 40 years had been
exceedingly kind to us and we then shared basic facts on careers, addresses,
children, and, of course, grandchildren.
Turning I was accosted by a broadly smiling
older gentleman who exclaimed, “I’m Denny Simpson! I was in the class two years
ahead of you.” (It seems he had married a girl in my class.) He then enveloped
me in a huge bear hug.
I actively asked him
pertinent questions as I racked my brain for just who this person was. There was a definite twinkle in the eyes, a
dimpled smile and as our conversation continued he began to morph and change
before me.
I mentally saw hair grow in and color to brown, a goatee
magically appeared, and his cheeks thinned.
Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, I saw Denny as I had known him 40
years earlier and cried, “I know you! I DO know you! You’re Denny
Simpson!”
His grin grew and then I sealed it. “You were such a cutie!”
The next evening many more
connections were made. Suzie’s bright
red hair had softened to a rich auburn, Maureen was now a lobbyist. My old badminton partner, pep rally poster
maker, field hockey sufferer Kathy was a librarian in Georgia. There were at least five couples that dated
in high school and were approaching their 38 year anniversaries.
So many conversations began with…”remember when?” or “I
remember…” The best was when Linda
stated, “I remember when you dyed your bangs green with food coloring for St.
Patrick’s Day.” I have no memory of
that, but believe that it dwells in the realm of possibility.
Careers ranged from teachers,
nurses, an oil refinery trouble-shooter, church musician, a golf cart
customizer, to the mayor of Bourbonnais my hometown. Although those that attended lived mainly in
Illinois and Indiana, California, Texas, and Vermont were represented. There
was one potential awkward moment when my sister’s former boyfriend who married
the girlfriend of his good friend that dumped her for another girl he married was
seated at the same table. Got that? The comment I heard was, “Boy! High school
was a long time ago.” We all shared a
laugh.
Hey, who woulda thunk?
It came time for the class photo where we were called to assemble according to
height. Earlier in the evening as I
scanned the crowd I kept repeating to Russ, “Are all of the guys in my class
really this short or is it me?” At
picture time it became obvious that it was indeed true since I found myself
standing next to the star forward of our basketball team. Need I say that I shifted down a hill
slightly so that other women were nearby in the photo?
The photo shoot over, Steve, a
former classmate from both grade and high school commented, “After last night I
went home and told my wife, I saw Kathy Ruark.
She’s so tall; she must be 6’1”.”
”Steve, that’s not true!” I laughed.
“I’m only 5’11”.” Steve then
threw back his shoulders, stood on tiptoe, and added, “Me too.”
