Earlier this year I wrote a response to a "going home" post by Brunette Gardens. In it I talked about the nature of not being able to go home again and creating home wherever I am. It is here, if you want to read it. Everything there is still true, but sometimes forgiveness and acceptance can redeem even the most difficult memories of home.
I wrote then of my last visit to my hometown as an awful one where I saw my dad for the last time and then got stranded in an tiny airport for hours until a sweet friend rescued me. I washed the spore-riddled dust of that town off my feet and planned to never return.
Never say never. Eventually I will learn that! Two years after that terrible trip I was invited to help organize my 40th high school reunion. (I graduated at 5, so don't get any ideas about my real age!! lol) Being 2300 miles away meant I couldn't do much locally, but I did put together the website and did my best to find classmates with whom most of us had lost touch. Being on the committee, of course, meant I should attend.
I took the opportunity to visit my mother in another Valley town. It had been years since I had seen her and her husband, and none of us are getting younger. One thing I have learned is that you never know the future, so make connections at every opportunity. I do not want to live in regret for being so self-absorbed that I ignore important relationships, whether they are complicated or easy ones.
I never lived in the town where my mother now lives, so there aren't negative memories there. My grandparents lived there when I was young, so I have good memories of bike rides with Grandpa and Grandma's Desert Rose dishes. Of course I went for a run, and of course I found water. No matter where I am, I always look for running water. Irrigation canals count! We had a good visit and left feeling restored.
Then the harder part of the trip: going to Bakersfield. The occasion was a happy one, which helped, and we stayed in an old hotel (rumored to be haunted) that I had never been inside. As it turned out, it was also conveniently located to the activities of the next 24 hours. The reunion was Saturday evening, so my husband and I made the rounds to the three places anyone who goes through Bakersfield must visit: Wool Grower's Basque restaurant, Dewar's Candy and Ice Cream shop, and Smith's bakery. All three played major roles in my childhood and I have never found anything else in the U.S. to meet my culinary experiences there.
And then the reunion itself. It was good to see people I have known since elementary and junior high school. Our class had its complications, but we have all grown up (one would hope, after 40 years) into kind and generous people. Most I have know since 7th grade, and a few since elementary school. Susan and I go back to first grade and attended the same schools through university; we even had the same major. Life took us in different directions and we were all glad for name tags! I've maintained contact with a few consistently over the years, and intermittently with others. Some I hadn't seen since graduation. It was good to catch up with everyone, whether out paths had crossed since 1983 or not. These are the people who have known me longer than anyone but my parents, and our connections may not be blood, but they are deeper than I imagined. Were we all best of friends then? No. Would we be best of friends if we still lived in the same town? Probably not. But mutual respect and affection is likely part of our environmental DNA. I wouldn't mind spending some quality time with each person with whom I connected that night.
The trip back to LAX gave me time to think about why reunions are important and why the idea of going home again can redeem bad experiences. Grace and laughter go a long way toward healing, and forgiveness is restorative. Remembering humorous moments (ask Tommy about Driver's Ed), teachers we loved (Mrs. Carson, Mrs. Robesky, Mr. Chichester), and experiences that shaped our futures (like a one-month exchange student trip to Germany) makes the hard times a little more bearable. Knowing that there are people who share my history in time (the 1970s and 80s) and place (with its good and bad elements) shows me that who I am is partly due to this group of people and I am part of who they are in some small, insignificant way. I am grateful.
Going home again is definitely an ambiguous endeavor. Kudos to you for taking up the high-school reunion charge! You’re far braver than I. I’ve attended just one, and that’s not likely to repeat!