03-May-2007: Reunions
Spring is fully upon us and tax season is over for another year. I slept for the past two days but now
I am ready to take on the summer. Coming up in mid-May is an event I thought I would be attending: the
100th anniversary reunion of the high school I attended for a few years in Toronto. I just assumed that
I would go and imagined meeting the teacher who taught me the rudiments of music theory. I would give him a copy
of my CD.
I also imagined meeting the woman whose heart I broke forty-five years ago. I would apologize and admit that I had
been a jerk. And I thought of meeting other old classmates and rediscovering who we are and who we have become.
But does that ever really happen at high school reunions? Especially when it has been almost half a century since
we last saw each other? What can we do except make small talk while spouses look on, trying to appear interested?
And, why, really, would I want to meet these strangers? In fact, that's what they are. The only reason I can
think of is to boast of my accomplishments since I was a troubled, angry, and arrogant jackass. See? I'm not
really like that. And why? To correct an image they might have of me that they will carry to their graves? And,
what, ultimately, does that serve?
Yes, I do not like to realize that there are people in this world who know other, less pleasant, aspects of me. But,
we impress people positively or negatively all the time—especially when our job is dealing with the public. I
think I succeed in making a positive impression the overwhelming majority of the time. If I didn't, I'd be out
of a job. And if I lost sleep over the ones I do not impress favourably, well, I'd never get any rest. So, in the end, what does it matter that a handful of people
I have not seen for more than forty years think of one of their classmates? I am not the person—thank God—that they thought they knew.
I am one of those people—as you've likely gathered by now—who is haunted by the past. But I am aware that
it is not healthy. Today is a gorgious day: sunny, warm, with a cool breeze—one of those days when you realize
that life is good. Plants are growing and I was able to rouse myself to get out and do some of the chores that need doing.
I clearly remember other such days—some from when I was a child—and recall them with pleasure. I used to like
finding a spot with my head and book in shadow and the rest of my body in the sun, to read away the afternoon lost in
an adventure, my body soaking up the sun's energy.
I read the other day that more than half of all Canadians now live in urban areas. I find that shocking, because, to me, Canada
is about small villages, open spaces, tree frogs singing through the night, clean air, blizzards, and lazy afternoons. We
survive each winter and are rewarded in the spring. I look out the window of my office and see a small wooded area where
I might see deer or wild turkeys. There are always black squirrels racing about doing whatever it is that they need to do
quickly.
So, why would I want to go to a noisy crowded foul-smelling city to meet a group of strangers with whom I have the
most tenuous of connection? I have so many other interesting things to do here and in the weeks and months to come.