School days, school days

September 23, 1932 - Ronald was in school until first recess and was excused then  The Nurnbergs weren't here all day.  We hurried with our work and got through about 2:15.  The Madison League entertained the Hoskins League tonite.  They had the party at their church.  We played games outside, had a weiner roast and after that a short program in the church.
September 24, 1932 - Mother came for me about 9:30.  Went to Behmer's, Jochens' and Strates' and got my check.  I went down town this afternoon.  Mom and I were down town a little while this evening.
September 25, 1932 - Washed my hair this morning.  Ray took me out to Annie's and Lilly finger-waved it for me.  Ray and Mom brought me back to Walkers about 5:30.  I went with Walkers to the oratorical contest at Norfolk tonite.  Thelma Rottler from Madison won the gold medal.  Hollis Francis and Nan Andersen birthday.

My commentary has almost nothing to do with what Grandma has here, other than the fact that she mentions school.  I went up to Winside this last weekend to the Q125 celebration.  Some of our class got together for a quick little breakfast before the parade.  A small, but determined bunch, I'd say.  I reflected a bit later as to why it is so enjoyable for me to get together with this select group of individuals and here is what I came up with:

What is it about childhood friends that keeps us coming back for more?  Perhaps it is because these are the people we knew before mortgages and being fired from work and keeping up with the Joneses, and shopping for the best car insurance.  One of the last lines of the movie "Stand by Me" where four friends go off in search of the body of a dead boy and find themselves instead is, "I never had any friends later on like the ones I had when I was twelve."  I think that applies to ages five to 18, too.

We all knew each other when we were at our best; not every day behaving like perfect young people, because of course, we weren't.  But we were enthusiastic about life because for the most part and for most of us, Life had not handed up more than we could handle.  We were in good physical and mental shape and the world was our oyster.  And we had fabulous fashion sense.  Like all generations before us, we did not and could not know what the future would hold.  But if we could make it through puberty and romantic break-ups, and disappointing ratings at district music contest, or favorite teachers moving on to other schools or not winning state wrestling, why, we could face anything.  We had not yet been affected so far as we knew by politicians or world events or the Dow Jones average.  World events, good or bad, did not come close to dulling our shine or giving us pause about the state of the planet we lived on.  Instead we lived for sports competitions and music and speech contests and plays and dances and summer vacation.  It was fun just to show up on the first day of school and find out who we got to sit next to in class.

But now, decades later, Life has shown us more of itself and we have weathered bad jobs and bad marriages and the heartbreak that sometimes comes with having children or trying to have them and the results of making choices we thought were right at the time.  We've buried beloved family members.  We've moved apart, literally and figuratively.  But there is a special and certain joy in seeing each other long after we were a cohesive class unit.  The years and the weight of the world can slip away for a time and we can be shiny and new and unaffected.  We can laugh and catch up since we last met, or not.  We can talk about who dated who, or the weather or retirement benefits.  Or not.  We have shared experiences that are known only to us.  And that makes our time together special, regardless of whether we spent three school years together or all 13, regardless of whether we hung out together during those years or simply passed in the halls.  We were the Class of 1980 and even if the best we could muster was "80 is greaty", we were greaty and still are. Keep shining, my friends.