You knew a reflection essay was coming, didn’t you?
Five years ago, I went to my very first high school reunion—the 40-year one. My class had been holding reunions every five years since we graduated, but I had never gone to one. At first, my main excuse was that we couldn’t afford it (and we really couldn’t), but I also was afraid of going. Terrified might be a better word.
Unlike many of my classmates, my time at that school was not wonderful. I might describe it as Dickensian—it was the best of times; it was the worst of times. Mostly it was very very grim. The “best” part was the lifelong friends I made. But my time there was marked by trauma and deep distress.
So, whenever another reunion was announced, I would be kind of glad I couldn’t afford to go. In addition to all my emotional baggage, I was deeply ashamed of the way I looked and so afraid I would be asked questions I didn’t want to answer.
Five years ago, when I had started traveling to Tennessee to cook for my parents, I knew I could plan a trip to see my parents and then continue on to the reunion in Kentucky. I forced myself to commit to it. I said I’d bring cookies, and once I make a commitment like that, I feel bound to it.
Still, on the day I drove to the reunion site, I was physically sick from anxiety and in fact I drove right past the entrance because I was too afraid to turn in. I drove several miles down the road before I got a grip on myself and forced myself to turn around and retrace my steps.
Of course, all my anxiety was for nothing (as is usually the case). I was welcomed with open arms. Several classmates shared their favorite memories of me, some of which I’d forgotten. Within a very few minutes, I realized what a terrible mistake it had been to withhold from myself the joy of being with these lovely people. Instead of protecting myself, I’d been depriving myself.
By the time I left that reunion, some healing had taken place, and I resolved to attend future reunions if at all possible. My friend Julie planned a “midway” reunion two and a half years ago, and I went to that one with enthusiasm. In fact I went early to help Julie with the cooking. And somehow, by the time I left that reunion, I ended up with the responsibility of planning the next one, although I thought I’d just agreed with a suggestion!
Which brings me to this reunion. This time, my anxiety was just over whether or not my classmates would have a good time and whether or not I’d remembered everything I needed to remember. I knew everyone would offer to help. I knew I’d enjoy every conversation, every hug, every smile. I knew I would be accepted. I knew our group is a judgment-free place.
For years, I’ve struggled to explain to people why these relationships are so deep and enduring. My standard explanation is that boarding school is so different from a day school experience. Your classmates are also your church friends and your sports teammates and your meal companions and your roommates and your surrogate brothers and sisters. Of course you form deep and long-lasting bonds. Who wouldn’t under those conditions?
All that is true. But at this reunion, I began to see a pattern that points to another layer of our shared experiences. I hesitate to verbalize it, because I realize some may disagree. And I’m not saying I have proof or am any kind of expert. But this time around, as I listened to various people tell bits and pieces of their life stories, something struck me that never struck me before.
Many, if not most of us, suffered various forms of trauma in our youth. All of us were separated from our parents, of course. Some fled their homes due to civil war or other violence. Some were pulled from a happy and contented life in their home countries to an uncertain and lonely existence overseas. Some lost a parent or sibling at a very young age. Some came from abusive or toxic homes.
So I wonder. What if a bunch of wounded, damaged kids found themselves thrown together in a place with minimal adult supervision, and what if they banded together and supported each other to help each other survive and thrive, despite all the circumstances that might have thwarted that outcome? Wouldn’t a dynamic like that lead to long-term, deep relationships? I think it would.