Name Tags and Placemats

Getting reacquainted with old friends, associates and casual acquaintances can be an interesting time travel into one’s past. Over the years, I’ve had the pleasure, disappointment, and soul-satisfying experience of revisiting my own past lives through those encounters. Each reunion is different and each revealed as much about myself as it did them.

As we’ve all travel through life, we’ve encountered other folks, aside from family, that have impacted us in one manner or another. For me, it was a couple of guys in high school, my barracks buddies in the Army, a couple of strays in Denmark as lost as I was, and work place encounters that lasted only for the duration of the job itself.

My fiftieth high school class reunion was a classic example of this. I graduated on May 31^st of 1961 and, with rare exception, never saw my classmates ever again. That is, until our class reunion fifty years later. The event was well orchestrated with a handsome binder of memories, mass (which I didn’t attend), and a class only gathering in the old high school gym. The next day there was an afternoon picnic at the Minnesota State Fairgrounds, spouses, girlfriends, and others invited.

My reunion with some of my old classmates had begun weeks earlier with several phone calls wanting to reconnect. Coffee encounters afterwards solidified our pre-reunion/union and paved the way for future dinners with the wives and solo coffee salons. Surprisingly, we seldom brought up our high school years and, instead, focused on our past fifty years and the miles traveled. While some of those folks have now passed on, the bulk remain good friends and coffee companions.

My years at the Maryland Center for Public Broadcasting were among the most cherished of my working career. Several friends from that era of the early-to-mid-seventies are still Facebook friends and blog commentators. Our collective miles traveled haven’t diminished their or my enthusiasm to talk current events, personal trials and tribulations and reflections of that ‘chamelot’ period in our lives. It’s almost as if time has shrunk and we’re both back to our old routines and bad habits; cherished or hidden as they may be.

Occasionally a name from my past will connect with me on Facebook. Curiously enough, after my welcoming response, most of them disappear and are never heard of again. Why did they bother in the first place; beats me?

Another side of that ‘So, how have you been?’ encounter have been several unexpected meet ups that led to disappointment and self-examination. These are the folks who, undenounced to me, turned out to be simply name tags and place settings from my past lives. There’s sometimes a fine line between being mildly interested and really caring about past connections. Each question, statement, or pause can be a test to be passed or failed based on the sincerity felt by the other party.

The art of conversation could be seen as a test. Words say a lot. Conversations mean something. Real conversations are priceless. I thrive on substance and not empty calories. These folks seem to have traveled a different pathway than I have. We may have once strolled the same lane but the divide that drew us apart has never left.

While some folks are willing to let you back into their lives, others aren’t so kind. My conversations with them, sparse as they’ve been, are all surface chatter, much of it contrived, and all very safe. It’s as if they’ve wrapped themselves up in this impenetrable armor that won’t let real emotions, true feelings and honest appraisals of our past lives become part of the conversation. To be honest, I can get more intimacy from a band-aid or Vaseline.

Photo Credit: Bob Getterz

Some of my coffee companions have chided me for caring about those lost connections from my past. ‘Let it go, it’s ancient history,’ they say. I disagree with their appraisal that the past is better left unearthed. Sometimes those past encounters can fill in the spaces where memories fail and questions still linger. Those encounters, while scotch taped with weak smiles and dishonest head nodding, are still a part of my past that interests me.

All those past connections with friends and casual time-sharing associates are glimpses into a younger me; good, bad, confused and trying. Under the crown of elder or senior, I find myself on an interesting journey of self-discovery. How did I get here? Why did I end up like this? Although I can’t change the past, how can I embrace what once was, accept that all friendships don’t last forever and recognize that as humans we all change, evolve, and hopefully grow in our own ways.

While I’d love to think that all past acquaintances, friends, associates, and casual encounters will be around forever, I know that is not the case. Relationships come and go; some longer than others. If we have just a couple of true, honest friendships that pass the test of time, we are damn lucky.

In that sense, I’ve been a very lucky man. I’ve had some great folks pass through my life and enrich me for the time spent with them. For those name tags and place settings, I wish them the very best. I have my memories of our past, real as I think it can be, and that’s what I’ll hold on to. Foolish or not, I want to remember the good times and accept the not so good as my reality when I was a younger man.