Group reunions

This shall be one of my more frivolous posts, though I'm sure I'll manage to tie it into some relevant matter along the way. I am at the age where thinking of the past generally falls into three categories. The first, which I call 'rose coloured glasses syndrome,' paints a vivid picture of one's earlier days as a time of esteem from others, happy times, and successes of every variety. I suppose this is all right, provided it does not make one's life seem either to have been a string of failures since or lead to the creation of a world where everyone whom one once knew is sitting in the evenings, reminiscing about how wonderful one was and what influence one had.

The second is regret for the past and all of one's mistakes. Oh, some of this is quite useful, in the appropriate dosage - I think even the general confession has its uses. But this approach tends to either cast one in the role of a villain when this was not the case - or to fill one with regret for missed opportunities which, in all likelihood, did not exist.

The third is nostalgia, which I'm sure was characteristic of mature years, and not a problem in itself, since shortly after mankind left Eden. (Pining for Paradise is an unequalled regret which, most fortunately, few of us, except for Augustine, would have imagined since.) There are many changes in the world which I sadly, even bitterly, regret, and I'm sure I am not alone. The only danger in nostalgia, when not taken to extreme, is that one may believe one could recapture the happiness by re-creating the circumstances of 30 years ago.

I have often said that, where many people in middle age and beyond have memories that are in 'photograph mode,' my own mind is a video camera. It is possible to look at a picture of a 'senior party' and remember it as an enchanting occasion - a prospect which is impossible if a video captured the image of one's having been in tears or telling jokes which one thought hilarious at the time.

I suppose that part of the reason I can miss things about the past without glorifying my youth is that my areas of special interest (humanities, music, theology and so forth) require many years to develop. I doubt I'll ever acquire wisdom, being far too romantic at heart, but know that those who do are only getting started at age 50. I valued maturity and still do, so I was spared the pain of weeping for my lost youth at 20, then living in a state of anxiety, at 40, that I may have lost my youthful beauty and charm.

I have never attended a group reunion, but know many people who have. It does contain an element, normally reserved to one's young adulthood today but nobly enshrined in the courtly love tradition of the Middle Ages, where the anticipation far exceeds the fulfilment. I'm sure we all remember the formal affair, masquerade party, whatever, which we so eagerly awaited at 16. I have noticed that reunions give promise of a delighted time with old friends (and rekindling of old friendships for today), seeing one's school chums share one's delight in what has transpired in one's life since, and, best of all for those with minds which are not only 'photographs' but taken with a series of complex filters, being reminded of how much one was admired by the others.

When others who have attended reunions tell me of it later, the most common comment is along the lines of 'after five minutes' (sufficient time to show photographs of one's children and grandchildren, and to perhaps mention one's current address, occupation, or cat's name) 'there was nothing to say.' I've known cases where, if "Alice" is aglow thinking of seeing "Shirley," her closest friend at 15, again, Alice will later be saddened to realise that Shirley has not thought of her in years, and does not even remember the time they shopped for silver shoes together.

Of course, sometimes to have people barely remember one is quite merciful. All too often, one indeed shall be remembered... and the memories consist of whatever one would most like to forget (and, indeed, probably did manage to forget.) I have no answer for this one, though it is a topic worthy of pursuit should I ever fully develop my philosophical sense: people not only tend to remember the worst of things about others, but seem to assume that the other will greatly enjoy being reminded of them. Memories of the more positive matters often backfire as well. One lady I knew, who was quite a beauty in her youth but is not particularly attractive today, was saddened at how several people said she 'used to be so pretty,' made the worse with the comment about 'how did she let herself go.'

Perhaps it does happen, but, to date, I have yet to hear of a reunion which led to joyous resumption of past friendships. (Cases where people actually have been in touch over the years, or have had continued involvement with a school, are in another category.) I suppose that, by the half century mark, we should be resigned to that, even when we liked people and enjoyed their company immensely, often our extensive social contact was an indirect result of being involved in the same school, organisation, or other pursuit. Yet I have known those who had such experiences as having a brief hello from a girl to whom they once proposed marriage.

Some of the people who were considered 'winners' during their youth (or who no one would ever have admitted were trying, given the need for group approval at that age) would be exasperating today, assuming they still are as they were then. I remember one fellow, actually quite a good comic actor, who could be hilarious to watch on stage. In social settings, he was always 'on,' and it was de rigeur to rave about just how much he was the best thing about a party. I am sure I am not the only one who found him tolerable for about five minutes. Every other person, it seemed, was merely a starting point for his ridicule, and perish the thought he was not at centre stage for every moment. Heaven knows what he is like today - but one can only hope that he is not still the sort who, during a performance of Frank Langella's 'Dracula,' would shout (at the critical climax when Dracula hurls an object and breaks the mirror in which his reflection cannot be seen) "Seven years bad luck!"

Much as we'd hate to admit it, we really never did know what others thought of us at that age. (We may not now, but that is another topic.) The devoted friends we try to remember from our teenage years were far more likely to be a fickle bunch. The obligatory laughter at the sort of clown I mentioned in the previous paragraph would turn to discussions of what a fool he was in a later conversation. My generation was not one for Victorian traditions of introductions, 'beaux,' and dance cards - and one knows full well what was said about the girl who was 'popular.' This is a mere fact of life, also as old as the earth, but, where we would not be likely to be surprised at this action in our friends' teenaged children, recognition could be sad if, since we were that age, we thought we'd had undying admiration and loyalty.

A few years ago, I saw an Internet discussion forum for 'baby boomers' advertised. I paid the site a visit, imagining fun in sharing memories of the Beatles, fashions, films, and the like. The reality was a collection of frumps, discussing such exciting and fun topics as 'preventative health care' and saving for retirement. I'd be totally out of place at a reunion. I tend to inwardly laugh at people who are trying to be impressive in any case, but would not be able to dispense the expected applause to anyone whose 'accomplishments' had to do with developing hypochondria, exploring the 'self help' aisle, or deciding to wage war against the evils of asparatame. Anyway, even assuming anyone had memories of when I was, for example, a very promising musician would be far more likely to either comment on how fat I am or (based on reunion stories I have heard from friends) remember the time I cried after a performance far more than the performance itself.

Lest this silly entry not contain at least one religious reference, I shall add that, one of these days (probably within a century or two), young scholars will be looking over accounts of things liturgical (or otherwise churchy) and wishing they'd been around during the 1970s. And well they might have such a feeling - because there indeed can be benefits from even the weirdest situations that are recognised only with hindsight. I wonder what they'll be thinking in 500 years? I've studied the mediaeval period in far too much depth not to wonder why people, much later, had happy dreams of knights and ladies... no Plague, no peasants' revolt, no sewage in the street...