GOING HOME AGAIN

Eight hours gives one plenty of time to "catch up" on the road to our 50th high school reunion. My former classmate Linda and I had much to discuss. We never really knew each other during the 10 years we attended the same small school, even though there were never more than 80 children in our entire class. We had a marathon of laughter about many things––childhood experiences, politics, our children, grandchildren, etc. After those eight hours, our trip could have concluded and still been a success.

The two-lane state road from Horseshoe Bay to the Panhandle of Texas carries very few cars and offers views of ranches, infrequent canyons, struggling crops, and sad, run-down little towns. Even though we tried, those back roads might be the only place on earth where you can drive for 500 miles and not see a Starbucks.

Once we reached the Panhandle, miles of a corridor-like stretch of land leading from Amarillo to Pampa was dotted with giant white wind turbines. It was as if aliens had planted a swath of their version of windmills. What a startling sight to see when your memory was one of vast flatness with a lone tree here and there, separated by barbed-wire fences! On this stretch of the road, my grandfather, a "muleskinner," drove wagons full of supplies from the train station in the Panhandle for 23 miles to the new oil fields of Borger in 1921. While the earth has offered up energy sources from this part of the world for almost 100 years, its relentless wind provides sustainable power. The muleskinner would be proud.

Texas is in the middle of a drought. The Panhandle has suffered more than the rest of the state, with many devastating wildfires in the past several months. We encountered rain during the final miles before reaching our destination. Linda called it "dirt rain." I had never heard the expression before, but the strong smell of dirt soon started coming through the vents. When the earth is that dry, rain stirs up loose dust. I could imagine farmers, ranchers, and townspeople dancing happily in the rain.

We made it to the hotel in time to check in and head out to the first gathering of the weekend, hosted by a married couple from our class. A few years ago, they fell in love after losing their spouses to cancer. No one would have predicted this pairing when we were in high school. Seeing them together and in love made my heart smile. Their love for each other brought freshness to our trip down memory lane.

The ubiquitous badges with our pictures from high school are required for 50-year reunions. There were only a few people I would have recognized otherwise, as I am sure it was mutual. It didn't take long for the alcohol to kick in and fellowship to begin. Years melted away along with whatever discomforts anyone might have felt initially.

We shared memories of band trips, football games, teachers, etc. At times, whatever pretenses we might have had faded as conversations deteriorated into sharing stories of wild facial hairs and panty liners. We laughed, oh, did we laugh.

When you're with a group of people you haven't seen in many years, it's natural to highlight your life. Sometimes, it feels almost like a contest. I had told Linda about a trip I made to Antarctica on an exclusive cruise line. Most of the people on tour were well-traveled. For many, this was their seventh continent to visit. People began sharing their travel stories at the cocktail party for the frequent-cruiser group. No matter where you've traveled, someone has always been to more places. One man told our Antarctica group that he had a reserved seat on the next privately funded space shuttle. He won. It was almost like pouring ice water over all our heads. Whether it's travel, money, or what the children have accomplished, someone always seems to be able to one-up everyone else. It was a great lesson to learn. And, after all, does it really matter?

Linda was determined to use the space shuttle story, but thankfully, our classmates weren't into excessive bragging. While she was disappointed at missing the opportunity, I'm confident it will be shared on another occasion.  

Our school and small town, clustered around Phillips Petroleum Company's refinery, closed in the mid 80s due to toxic chemical spills and explosions. Three thousand houses were torn down or moved several miles away to Borger. One of our classmates, now retired, became an environmental engineer. He regaled us with information about the chemical dangers lurking in the "ponds" near storage tanks when we were growing up. Many of us swam in those water bodies and hiked through the canyons surrounding our town. The company knew it could be held liable for adverse reactions in the populace and wanted to avoid future lawsuits. When I was growing up, the men living in the houses on either side of us and across the street died of cancer at an early age. My father, who always lived a healthy lifestyle through exercise and a proper diet, was fortunate to have remained untouched by emissions from the plant and died recently at the age of 91. Someone commented at the reunion that the county where we grew up had an unusually high cancer incidence at one time. Clean-up efforts and filters have made the air and water safer over the past ten years.

We were treated to a tour of our now-closed school by a security guard from the plant. It is used primarily for offices, but the condition of the school has vastly deteriorated, with portions of it closed due to pollutants. We were told we could take pictures of the interior but not the exterior because of Homeland Security rules after 9/11. I didn't want to take any pictures, as it was too painful. It felt like walking through a movie with memories creeping in of the sound of the school band, the gymnasium full of cheering fans during a basketball game, or the click-clacking of manual typewriters in the business classroom. As we passed the high school principal's office, a dreadful emotion crept into my memory, as no one wanted to walk through that door because it meant being disciplined by the stern principal. We felt he was unreasonably unfair and too strict when we were in school. He's gone now, but a great fondness for him lingers. It took maturity to understand and appreciate what he and our teachers, all of whom had high standards, were determined to accomplish. We are all better people because of them. 

The final evening was spent visiting our classmates and people from other graduating years. We were treated to a film made on our senior trip to Colorado. If we knew what would be in store for us in future years, we would have enjoyed the trip even more. Childhood memories are bittersweet as we tumble through the last part of our lives. There's something about the innocence of youth that makes you yearn for it as you age.

We were only a few miles out of Borger when we saw a lone antelope standing at attention on the 6666 Ranch as he watched us make our way back to Horseshoe Bay. I could feel tears welling up as we sped past the land I once knew well but was now gone forever. Inwardly, I wept as I realized I would likely never see most of those old classmates again. As Thomas Wolfe wrote, you can't go home again.