Lee Dean: Where did that half-century go?

Where did that half-century go?

Lee A. Dean screendoor@sbcglobal.net Fifty years ago, at right about this point in the calendar, my peers and I were embracing the achievement of a lofty status, one which we had worked for a dozen years to achieve. We had arrived: we were high school seniors, the rulers of all we surveyed (or so we surmised). For all those years we had been looking up to the seniors and now we were the seniors.

We had status. We had clout. We had confi dence. Our photos in the next yearbook were going to be larger than anyone else’s — read ’em and weep, you sniveling freshmen. We even had a sanctioned skip day on the horizon. How much more privileged can a group of students get? Yet, there was a shadow. In June, we were going to be spat out into the world. The young men had apprehensions about the future, especially in 1972 with a war still raging in Vietnam and a draft lottery in place. One year left, and then…what? Some of us had our next moves mapped out. The fi rst necessary step was college. We were dashing toward our mailboxes each day in search of acceptance letters from institutions of higher learning. A few guys had the military in their plans, betting that Vietnam would wind down. The working world waited for some of my classmates, and a chance to get out there and earn actual money. Others didn’t have a clue or a plan, and that was by design. They saw the magic word “FREEDOM” in neon, and their goal was to sprint toward that magic light. But the majority sentiment was the desire to hang on to our exalted senior status for as long as we could. The athletically-inclined were embracing that last opportunity to be a hero, and not just the guys — girls’ basketball was coming into its own. We hungered for one more chance at scoring the winning touchdown or nailing the buzzer-beater basket that would have earned us a sentence or two in the Kalamazoo Gazette.

But not me. Football was out of the question for a guy who was pushing 6-2 and weighing only 155 pounds. My position would have been “fresh meat.” One of my classmates still wonders why I didn’t come out for basketball, but my game night status would have been butt on bench, not Chuck Taylors on the fl oor. My not-so-athletic physique also put me at a disadvantage with the opposite sex. I was quite unlikely to be among the couples in the hall leaning up against the lockers and playing tonsil hockey. I was blessed in other ways. Even in a small school such as ours, there were plenty of other avenues to pursue for those of us who were not athletically or romantically gifted. I chose theater, journalism, debate, and forensics as ways to shine, even if captaining the debate team or editing the school paper never translated into “chick magnet.” Being a senior came with accessories, none of which I particularly wanted. First, there was the senior picture. Today’s photos are in color, many in unique outdoor settings. Our pictures looked as if they were inspired by mortuary science. I helped enhance that perception by not smiling. My class ring left my fi nger the day I left high school, never to return.

There was so much left in our year to anticipate. We were fundraising for our senior trip. Most of the other classes went to New York City, but only two of us wanted to visit the Big Apple. The majority wanted fun in the sun. Daytona Beach, here we come. That trip, the prom, the yearbook, baccalaureate, and graduation all generated memories that may come up for discussion at the reunion. Some of those tales begin with the ominous opener, “Do you remember that time when you….” As a senior, I never wondering what our fi fth-year reunion would be like, let alone the fi ftieth. We wanted to make it to graduation in one piece, which we all did. But by the time the fi fth-year reunion came, we had lost three from our class o 62.

When we gather for the big 5-0, I hope to talk about what has happened in the intervening years. I want to hear about successful careers, good families, and challenges conquered. More than anything, I want to hear about the future. To quote the title of Parker Palmer’s latest book, we’re on the verge of everything – just as we were a half-century ago as seniors. A few more of us have experienced the ultimate graduation to the next world. There may be a few others who won’t show up, with the feeling of, “Why do I want to see those people?” But I do want to see those people – every last one of them.