A high school classmate of mine lost her yearbooks in a housefire several years ago.
Upon learning this my first thoughts was, “well, I never look at mine, would you like them?”
This made me feel good, generous, helpful; all those good things.
Then I realized that there is another way to describe it: that my yearbooks, remaining printed evidence of my high school years, are “not important to me.”
This did not make me feel good.
In offering these yearbooks, was I callously turning my back on the 534 people I graduated with in 1981? Was this a final farewell to friends?
My 30th reunion was last summer. I was not able to make it as it coincided with a mission trip to which I was committed. I did make our 25th reunion in 2006, and had a great time catching up.
I suppose I should admit that from today’s perspective, almost 31 years after graduating from high school and moving away from the area, 4 books are not particularly important to me.
I’ve looked at them perhaps a half dozen times over the decades. This means they have privately not been very important to me. I guess the difference is I hadn’t ever thought of saying out loud how little time I spend reminiscing over high school.
Classmates of mine; please take no offense. I would rather get to know you again now than attempt to relive whatever our lives and relationships were like then.
That would be of more value, and thus be more important, to me.