School reunion as catharsis

I spent last weekend with a lovely group of people.

I have known most of these people for ¾ of my life. Some of them I went to primary school with. I have hardly spoken to any of them since I left home in 1982. My memories of school were not particularly happy. I was probably an anxious teenager who covered it up by going a bit off the rails. My poor parents.

I was reluctant to attend (refer to my first blog here) but then I heard someone say the only things you truly regret in life are the things you don’t do. So I made a commitment. Booked the fares and then watched the weather forecast (cold isn’t my thing any more).

On Friday night I went to the football club. It felt weird to be going for drinks with people I didn’t know. So I walked in the door. And felt welcomed. It turned into a bit of a guessing game as the person bringing the name tags was late. In hindsight the “who are you?” was not a bad thing. I met people I would not have recognised in the street. But we had shared memories, of buildings, teachers and notable events. The atmosphere was friendly, supportive. Age is a great leveller and alcohol a social lubricant. 

On Saturday morning we toured the school. The facilities offered now are amazing compared to our memories of demountable classrooms, ancient typewriters and for the boys queuing for the cane. The tour saw us mixing in different groups and sharing recollections. People came who had not attended the night before. Some of us met for coffee afterwards because it seemed a waste to spend the precious time away from each other.

Saturday night at the surf club was huge. After braving the biting wind to get upstairs at the venue I managed to enter through the wrong door (direct into the bar). The last time I had been in this building was at my father’s wake. And then people arrived. One after the other people squealed in delight, hugged, greeted each other. We posed for lots of photos which are slowly trickling through onto Facebook.

I have never experienced a social event with this exact vibe. Everyone who was there wanted to be there – they came for the right reasons. Those who could not face their schoolmates did not attend. Nobody has little children any more so that awkward “I need to get up early/leave/get the kids to bed” type of exit was not required. We all talked so much we couldn’t hear the music. I had a sore throat for three days afterwards.

A very moving tribute was made to the 16 classmates who are no longer with us. Biographies were printed and displayed. We crammed together for a group photo. And after midnight reluctantly departed, some to private gatherings some to sleep until our final event.

The food was amazing and was prepared by a classmate. The two young guys at the bar were run off their feet. I was fascinated by the diversity of careers and lives there. Our year has made a great contribution to Australian society and we haven’t stopped yet.

Several men approached me asking “who are you?” and commented “but you had beautiful long red hair”. My standard response became “but you had hair!” I wish I had known you found one aspect of me beautiful. It would have done a lot for my confidence and might have changed some of the unwise choices I made before meeting my soul mate in 1982. Many remembered my Dad. “He used to shout at us” at school, at scouts, at cadets, at camp. Yes Dad was memorable. If we had ever got together he would have shouted at you at home too.

Sunday was a lot more relaxed. We recognised each other – no more “who are you?” The weather could not have been better and the catering (down to our generous host and his lovely wife) was excellent. Abundant, tasty Tasmanian food with good company. I think everyone was reluctant to have this special time end.

Although we had been apart for so many years the things we shared were critical to the formation of our identities. There was collective memory of teachers, canings, traditions, boundaries, taboos. We share these things and have all grown out of the ones that don’t add value to life. As I said before 40 years is a tremendous leveller. 

Everybody was there for the right reason. Nobody had to leave because of putting someone else first. For a few special hours we were almost as self-centred as teenagers again – in a safe space just being ourselves. I felt a really special connection with some people – I won’t name names because I will forget someone. And I am sure I shed some garbage I have carried for 40 years. 

We are all the cool kids. We are winning at life. We even have a shared soundtrack here

If you missed it I am sorry. I am looking forward to seeing you at the next one.

Donna Clayton-Smith