A Brief Reunion
Two days ago, out of the blue, I got a Facebook message from a high school classmate. He was on an adventure to visit the last four states he had not been to, would be passing through Wichita, and wanted to know if we could get together. I graduated from Randolph High School 42 years ago. It had been that long since I had seen Jack Cunniff. Naturally, I made arrangements.
He was staying at the Hotel at Old Town so I suggested Mort’s. My wife thought I was crazy for the suggestion. Mort’s on a Friday night would be jam packed. The outside patio was already hopping, the musician was already performing, but in the relative quiet of the inside sat an old chum, my age, but certainly with a different set of experiences.
Naturally, neither of us had aged a bit.
The question is: How do you go through 42 years in the space of two and a half hours? First there are the bullet points, the highlights. You know — school, jobs, marriage(s). And then you hit the Way-Back Machine and start referencing stories and anecdotes. Either one of you may remember the others’ references, but if you don’t, oh well!
What was important for me was learning that someone I went to school with had carried forth and was living a good life. In essence, it validated our upbringing in a small suburb of Boston. Both the Irish Catholic kid and the Jewish kid had hard-working parents who only wanted the best for their children, wanted to make sure their lives would be better.
I’m sure someone of today would take issue with our verbiage or our jokes or some of our insensitivities. We were not perfect kids; we are not perfect adults. But the consideration and compassion that was instilled in us certainly made us better people.
In reflecting on this brief reunion, I realized my formative years laid the foundation for my deeply passionate creative yearnings. With books in every room of my house, classical and popular music records, and parents who were into antique collecting, there was no way I would not have followed the path I took. Yes, there were speed bumps and pot holes along the way. Happily, the engine still runs.
Whether or not I shall ever see Jack Cunniff again is certainly the stuff of Fate. However, this brief reunion made me realize how proud I am of my life thus far and motivates me toward the journey yet ahead.
