July 23, 2014 at 2:10 p.m.
Catching up tough to beat (3/16/05)
Dear Reader
By By Jack Ronald-
Would I recognize him?
I wasn't sure.
Sitting in a big city bar, waiting to meet up with someone you haven't seen in almost 20 years can be a little intimidating.
I was in town to do a press seminar, and thanks to a high school class connection I'd learned that an old friend was affiliated with a major university in the same city. From there, it was a matter of a couple of quick e-mails to set up a time to meet for dinner.
But would I recognize him?
I wasn't sure.
Watching the entrance, I assessed everyone who came in.
When one guy with a partially-shaved head wandered by, I gave him a close look.
Maybe rebellious enough, but too young.
When another guy with a ratty ponytail came by, I thought back to my old friend's rock n roll days and decided he was a bad fit.
Finally, about the time I was beginning to think the reunion wouldn't happen, the most dapper guy in town walked in.
It was my old friend, although he looked a lot more like Frank Sinatra.
His suit was perfectly tailored. His tie was silk, with a designer label.
In other words, he looked a little different from the last time I saw him at our 20th class reunion and a heckuva lot different from our graduation back in 1966.
We made quite a pair as we went off to dinner.
If there's a word for the opposite of dapper, it would have applied to me.
Though I can be presentable when need be, my turtleneck and tweed sport jacket were not in the same league as my friend's tailoring.
In some ways, the differences in our wardrobes were symbolic of the different paths our lives had taken since high school.
I've been married almost 34 years; he's divorced, having been married to another of my best friends for a couple of decades.
He has no children; I have three charming daughters.
His parents — though in their late 80s — are living; mine have been gone for years, Dad died 22 years ago this week.
His career as an engineer has been built upon numbers; mine has been based upon words.
He's a self-described Libertarian. I'm, well, not a Libertarian.
Our lives have taken very different paths since high school graduation.
But it wasn't our differences which mattered over dinner.
It was our connections.
Seamlessly we moved from conversation to conversation, trading stories and anecdotes and opinions that dated back to first grade at Judge Haynes Elementary School.
We reflected on how blind we were to other classmates’ potential, how quickly we got caught up in all the adolescent nonsense which clouds human judgment, and — most of all — how glad we were that we'd been able to re-establish connection after all these years.
We told stories from elementary school. We told stories from junior high gym class.
We laughed over our teachers, our friends, and primarily at ourselves.
And when the evening ended, when we gave one another a hug at the entrance to his subway station at the base of my hotel, we both realized what a wonderful thing it can be when your friends at age 56 just happen to be some of the same folks who were your friends at age 6.
That's tough to beat.[[In-content Ad]]
I wasn't sure.
Sitting in a big city bar, waiting to meet up with someone you haven't seen in almost 20 years can be a little intimidating.
I was in town to do a press seminar, and thanks to a high school class connection I'd learned that an old friend was affiliated with a major university in the same city. From there, it was a matter of a couple of quick e-mails to set up a time to meet for dinner.
But would I recognize him?
I wasn't sure.
Watching the entrance, I assessed everyone who came in.
When one guy with a partially-shaved head wandered by, I gave him a close look.
Maybe rebellious enough, but too young.
When another guy with a ratty ponytail came by, I thought back to my old friend's rock n roll days and decided he was a bad fit.
Finally, about the time I was beginning to think the reunion wouldn't happen, the most dapper guy in town walked in.
It was my old friend, although he looked a lot more like Frank Sinatra.
His suit was perfectly tailored. His tie was silk, with a designer label.
In other words, he looked a little different from the last time I saw him at our 20th class reunion and a heckuva lot different from our graduation back in 1966.
We made quite a pair as we went off to dinner.
If there's a word for the opposite of dapper, it would have applied to me.
Though I can be presentable when need be, my turtleneck and tweed sport jacket were not in the same league as my friend's tailoring.
In some ways, the differences in our wardrobes were symbolic of the different paths our lives had taken since high school.
I've been married almost 34 years; he's divorced, having been married to another of my best friends for a couple of decades.
He has no children; I have three charming daughters.
His parents — though in their late 80s — are living; mine have been gone for years, Dad died 22 years ago this week.
His career as an engineer has been built upon numbers; mine has been based upon words.
He's a self-described Libertarian. I'm, well, not a Libertarian.
Our lives have taken very different paths since high school graduation.
But it wasn't our differences which mattered over dinner.
It was our connections.
Seamlessly we moved from conversation to conversation, trading stories and anecdotes and opinions that dated back to first grade at Judge Haynes Elementary School.
We reflected on how blind we were to other classmates’ potential, how quickly we got caught up in all the adolescent nonsense which clouds human judgment, and — most of all — how glad we were that we'd been able to re-establish connection after all these years.
We told stories from elementary school. We told stories from junior high gym class.
We laughed over our teachers, our friends, and primarily at ourselves.
And when the evening ended, when we gave one another a hug at the entrance to his subway station at the base of my hotel, we both realized what a wonderful thing it can be when your friends at age 56 just happen to be some of the same folks who were your friends at age 6.
That's tough to beat.[[In-content Ad]]
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