How many times have I said it? How many times have I relished the opportunity to say it? I love to say: “I was not even born then.” Another favorite is: “I was born the year that you graduated from college, got married, or entered military service.” The smirk that accompanies such comments is nearly painted on my face. Those kind of comments have a way of coming back to haunt us.

Last week I told a Granbury police officer I was riding out with that I was going to see some childhood friends this week that I had not been with since 1975. He is a much nicer person than I am, so he resisted the temptation to smirk. He just said in a very casual manner: “Oh, I was born in 1975…” I am feeling a little ancient today, but perhaps that is not all bad…

I purposely avoided my 10 year high school reunion. I was just not ready to go back. I had a good experience in high school for the most part, but for some reason at the 10 year juncture the memories felt unpleasant and raw. The dumb stunts I pulled were still fresh on my mind, and quite frankly a little embarrassing. I was afraid that the statute of limitations had not been reached yet on some of my infractions.

The 20 year reunion came around pretty quickly. By that point, we had three children. I was enrolled in doctoral program. My career was well established.
The statute of limitations was definitely working in my favor by that point. I briefly entertained the idea of actually attending the reunion, but in the final analysis fear of the past won out.

In 2005, plans were made for a 25 year high school reunion. I eagerly signed up.
I was ready and willing to return to the scene of the crime. By that point in life, I was feeling pretty humble. I had two teenagers in the house and another one not far from that phase of life. I had a strong suspicion that other classmates felt equally humble. It turned out to be an enriching and affirming experience. There was ample opportunity to encourage old friends who were facing an entire array of life challenges.

This summer we will gather again for a 30 reunion. All of us are now are officially closer to 50 than to 40. That does not seem possible. I still feel like the 17 year old who wanted to look older, so he could buy beer. (I have no desire to look older now.) My goal this summer is to reach out to old friends once again, and listen to their life stories. There is a lot to be told.

This week I am attending a much different kind of reunion. I did not go to high school with the friends I have not seen since 1975. My family moved after I was in the 7th grade. This week’s informal reunion is what I am calling the “Sandlot Reunion.” I will see friends from my elementary school days that I played ball with on the sandlot at the Village Green. We built forts, played hockey, rode bikes together, and explored every nook and cranny of the “woods” that joined our neighborhood. We tried smoking for the first time together, and discovered that mischief had no problem finding us.

A lot of life occurs in 34 plus years. Careers are indeed well established. Our children are nearly grown. Some of us have lost both of our parents and others have lost one parent. Most of us are wondering if we will ever be able to retire. We are still learning. Some of us are still pursuing a formal education and the rest of us realize there are still many life lessons to be learned.

I am excited about the Sandlot Reunion that officially gets underway late this afternoon. It is a time of embrace. It is a time to offer and receive forgiveness.
It is a time to listen. It is a time to offer a word of encouragement. It is a time to heal and a time to celebrate the future. It is a time to reaffirm the value of old friendships and a time to forge new ones as well.It is a time to go back to the Sandlot. It is a time to laugh a lot and perhaps to shed a tear as well. A lot of my friends were not born in 1975, but they had no clue what they were missing!