By Bill King
I had the opportunity to do something last Saturday that I’ve never done before and will, no doubt, never do again. The momentous occasion was a reunion to celebrate the 50th graduation anniversary of Plainview High School’s Class of 1973. Oh, we’ve had other reunions, every five years as a matter of fact, but a 50th anniversary only rolls around once in a lifetime. It was a joyous event but with a touch of sadness. Out of our small class of 62 graduates, 29 classmates attended. We were also delighted to have a favorite former teacher, Mrs. Jane Ables, as our special guest. Mrs. Ables served as one of our class sponsors. The sadness was caused by the fact that 13 of our fellow students are no longer with us. We paused for a moment to remember them as their names were called.
Plainview High School is located in the town of Rainsville, in the middle of Sand Mountain. Both the town and the high school are fairly young. The town was incorporated in 1956. The high school’s first class graduated in 1959. This made my class only the fifteenth one to graduate from there. When the members of that 15th class walked across the stage to receive our diplomas, it probably never crossed our minds that we would never all be together at the same time again. We never imagined how quickly the next 50 years would pass when about half of us would come together to celebrate our golden graduation anniversary.
The passing of time is a strange thing. In some ways, it seems like only a few years ago that several of my classmates and I began the first grade together. In other ways, that seems like a lifetime ago. Other classmates joined us along the way as they transferred in from other towns and schools. The wonderful thing about a small class is that everyone knew everyone. We were not simply classmates; we became friends who now feel like family.
It seemed like those 12 years of school took 50 years to pass. Now, as we look back, it seems like the last 50 years only took about 12 to pass. Last Saturday, as I looked around the room at my classmates, I wondered where all those old people had come from. Then I reminded myself that those old people had come from the same place I had and that after all these years, I am still part of them, and they are still part of me.
How could we possibly be this old? How could the kids who listened to the Beatles and wore bangs like them now be grandparents, and even great-grandparents, to kids that are the age we were? How could the teenagers who wore frayed bell-bottom jeans with peace signs and Woodstock patches on them now be retired? How can it be that those teenagers who used to cruise the parking lot of our local Dari-King on weekends until midnight now want to be home before dark? Our reunion this year was held at lunchtime rather than in the evening to accommodate that desire. We may still cruise, but only when we are actually going somewhere, and we don’t like to have to turn on our headlights to get there. Finally, at long last, we know the answer to that question our parents used to continually ask. We finally know what that younger generation was coming to! We have arrived…at senior adulthood, Social Security, and a 50-year class reunion! We are now the ones asking, “What’s this younger generation coming to?”
