40 Years Later - We're Still Here

John Lennon was all of 24 years-old when he wrote the following:

There are places I'll remember
All my life, though some have changed
Some forever, not for better
Some have gone and some remain
All these places have their moments
With lovers and friends I still can recall
Some are dead and some are living
In my life, I've loved them all

Brilliant stuff, but goodness, to be in one’s mid-20s waxing nostalgia, it’s hard not to conclude that he hadn’t lived long enough at that point to have earned the sentimentality for the past.

At fifty-eight, I’m feeling a bit nostalgic myself, having just attended my 40th high school reunion with around 100 of my former classmates, some of whom I hadn’t seen since the day I graduated.

What I especially loved about the reunion is that none of the nonsense that occupied our adolescence matters anymore. No one cares who was popular or not, who played sports or who played in band, who dated or didn’t date or broke up with whom, who got into trouble with teachers, who was a loudmouth and who was reticent, who did drugs or who abstained. None of that stuff matters. All that matters is we’re still here, as at least a dozen former classmates are not.

But you’ve survived. I’ve survived. Sure, we’ve been kicked around some, maybe more than some, but we’re still here. We’re single or married or divorced or remarried and maybe divorced a second time. We’ve had children or not, and they’re doing amazing or they’re having difficulties, and we’re best friends with them or we’re estranged, or maybe they’re living with us or close by or in a different state or country. We don’t have grandkids yet or maybe we watch them a few days a week. We have a wonderful job or we’re cobbling together a career to make ends meet. We’ve retired or we’ve been laid off by our most recent employer. We’ve purchased a home – maybe two homes – or we’re renting or living with our ailing mother. Our parents are alive or dead or suffering from dementia or perhaps they’re still having the time of their lives. We live near the city and still attend rock concerts, or we live a secluded life in the boonies. We travel around the world or we haven’t left our home state in decades. We remember high school fondly, with dread, or not at all. We’re as healthy as can be or we’re working through our latest bout of cancer or some other challenge.

Whatever the case, you’re here. I’m here. I’m delighted that we’ve both survived. Let’s hope we can do it again in ten years.

29 Years Down the Line

Sometimes you can go back, at least for a moment.  Last Saturday I joined my high school colleagues and performed as our old 80s cover band, I ON U, before an audience of family, friends and classmates at Oscar’s Pub and Grill in Milwaukee, playing a ninety minute set that briefly transported us back three decades.  When the band last played together on May 16, 1986, Ronald Reagan was president, Whitney Houston ruled the airwaves, and we five musicians were headed for glory.  Our closing song was INXS’s “Don’t Change,” and ever since then this song has represented for me the end of something and the beginning of something else.  Back in 1986, the “something else” was life.  Fortunately the intervening twenty-nine years of living did nothing to hamper the enjoyment of the group on Saturday.

It began as a lark.  When my daughter and I visited Belmont University last January I called on guitarist Bill and his family to meet for lunch.  That we did, and sometime during the afternoon we put two and two together and realized that it was January 10, twenty-nine years to the day of I ON U’s first concert back in 1986.  Bill’s wife Anne took a photo of the two of us and posted on Facebook:

Part 1 of IonU reunion — at Taziki’s Mediterranean Cafe.  Bill and Paul just realized that today is the 29th anniversary of the first show!

Kevin, a high school classmate who remembers every person he’s ever met and is the consummate event planner, responded:

Is part two going to be Live Sept. 19th 2015 For Team Bryce and Al's Run/Walk for Children's Hospital??? Hmmmmmmmmm!!!!!! 

Kevin was referring to the team that for nine years has participated in the Brigg’s and Stratton Al’s Run and Walk for Milwaukee Children’s Hospital, which this year grew to 370 participants.

That set the wheels in motion, and within a few weeks singer Rob, drummer Jim and keyboardist Aaron were all on board, busily deciding on a set list, dusting off our old equipment and praying that muscle memory would take over.  Two rehearsals in June made it apparent that nothing had changed in twenty-nine years.  We still played well together, but what I really liked was the ease with which we were able to hang out.  For me, it was as if no time had passed at all. 

Playing Saturday on a pitch-perfect day, I was focusing more on playing the correct notes on my non-native bass guitar (and sometimes succeeded!) than what was happening around me, but for a few seconds I glanced up into the cerulean sky and thought, “Well, this is pretty much perfect.”  And while playing the song “Abacab” by Genesis, keyboardist Aaron and I stood side by side and placed our four hands on the same Roland Juno-60 that we played back in the 80s, and I turned to him and said something like, “This is pretty cool, huh?”

It was, indeed. 

It was also great seeing our old classmates looking terrific in their late 40s.  What I really like about these mini reunions is that it no longer matters who knew who back in high school, who was the jock and who was the band nerd, who glided through school and who struggled, who was homecoming king and who was the class clown.  @@None of that shit matters any more.  All that matters is that we’re alive.  We’re here.@@  We’re doing the best we can with all that life has dealt us: all the joys and heartaches, the little victories and monumental losses, the struggles and disappointments, the friendships and celebrations.  All we really want for everyone at this point is to keep on keeping on, and it’s a good feeling.

As the band once again closed with INXS’s “Don’t Change,” my fingers slid to the F sharp to begin the song’s descent and I again felt that twinge: it was the end of something, just as it was twenty-nine years ago.  Back then it was the end of high school, the end of the band, the end of friendships.  On Saturday, it was the end of something else.  I can’t quite put my finger on it and maybe don’t even want to.  @@I think it might have something to do with ending that period in my life when I had more days ahead than behind me.@@  Something reminding me to embrace the moment, because none of this is going to last forever.

“Don’t change a thing for me,” says the song.  But change we will.