CREEK ROAD GANG
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Thoughts from the Editor
November 2009
Traffic problems
caused my late arrival to the first event of my high school reunion
weekend. Having missed the bulk of the Friday evening football game, my
husband and I sat in our car in the golf course parking lot, waiting
for other members of my class to arrive for the post-game reception.
Another couple also waited in the next parking space. I squinted, with
and without my glasses, at the man sitting in the driver's seat of
their car, but couldn't place him. When they got out and headed to the
club house, I decided the time had come to find out who he was.
The gentleman in question, who turned out to be an interesting and charming fellow, hadn't been a classmate of mine, but was escorting a girl I remembered from English class in seventh grade. She and I hadn't seen each other since graduation; no surprise, since we had been living on opposite sides of the country. We began to talk, fitting older faces into the context of those memories of school days.
And so it went for two more days. I talked with the girl who had been my first friend in my new town when we moved in sixth grade, with the girl across the street, the nice boy who, by virtue of our alphabetical placement, sat behind me in junior high, a boy I had a crush on in seventh grade, another in eighth, the girl who sat in front of me in homeroom in ninth grade, the editor of the high school paper, the stars of school plays, the band, the sports teams, the class president, the great musicians, singers, dancers, athletes, the class clowns, and on and on. Some of them had been my friends, some just acquaintances, but lots and lots of good people glad to share again in the bond of having been young together.
We tried to catch up on all those years since high school, learning new things about each other, renewing old friendships and making new connections. We reminisced. We told stories and we listened to stories. We were heavier, thinner, grayer, balder, more or less wrinkled, although I'd swear some people don't seem to have changed, and some are still dancing with the same flair they showed at seventeen.
What do we have now that we didn't have then?
More confidence to be just who we are.
More experiences, not all of them happy, but all lending something to the mix of our lives.
More stories, some uproariously funny, some sad, some quietly wise, some unfolding as priceless gifts.
Those stories; we all have them, each from a unique perspective.
Sharing them enriches us all.
We at Creek Road Gang hope that you enjoy the stories we bring to you with this issue.
We are happy to receive letters from readers. Please send them to editor@creekroadgang.com
The gentleman in question, who turned out to be an interesting and charming fellow, hadn't been a classmate of mine, but was escorting a girl I remembered from English class in seventh grade. She and I hadn't seen each other since graduation; no surprise, since we had been living on opposite sides of the country. We began to talk, fitting older faces into the context of those memories of school days.
And so it went for two more days. I talked with the girl who had been my first friend in my new town when we moved in sixth grade, with the girl across the street, the nice boy who, by virtue of our alphabetical placement, sat behind me in junior high, a boy I had a crush on in seventh grade, another in eighth, the girl who sat in front of me in homeroom in ninth grade, the editor of the high school paper, the stars of school plays, the band, the sports teams, the class president, the great musicians, singers, dancers, athletes, the class clowns, and on and on. Some of them had been my friends, some just acquaintances, but lots and lots of good people glad to share again in the bond of having been young together.
We tried to catch up on all those years since high school, learning new things about each other, renewing old friendships and making new connections. We reminisced. We told stories and we listened to stories. We were heavier, thinner, grayer, balder, more or less wrinkled, although I'd swear some people don't seem to have changed, and some are still dancing with the same flair they showed at seventeen.
What do we have now that we didn't have then?
More confidence to be just who we are.
More experiences, not all of them happy, but all lending something to the mix of our lives.
More stories, some uproariously funny, some sad, some quietly wise, some unfolding as priceless gifts.
Those stories; we all have them, each from a unique perspective.
Sharing them enriches us all.
We at Creek Road Gang hope that you enjoy the stories we bring to you with this issue.
We are happy to receive letters from readers. Please send them to editor@creekroadgang.com
~Kate Lydon
