We Are All Running Out Of Time

I try my darndest to write a graduation story every May. For a myriad of reasons. Most all of them revolve around the high school seniors who are marching into the auditorium, gym, football stadium, etc. one last time to the stick-in-your-head-forever-if-you-are-not-careful sounds of “Pomp and Circumstance.”

I want to share my congratulations. Applaud as they pass by in a metaphorical way. Be one more in a long line to wish them well and remind them of the unending possibilities that lie ahead. Dream big is the universal theme on graduation day!

It may seem like a whirlwind to them. A crossroad for sure, but where does it lead? I’ve heard it described as a celebration with an unsure ending. And one thing has always perplexed me about this solemn ceremony from time immemorial: are we graduating “from” something, or “to” something that hasn’t taken place yet?

My beautiful Addison Grace is walking in with the Class of 2025.

I don’t need to be rattling on like I usually do. This group deserves the very best graduation gift I can muster up. And if these seniors are worthy of the diplomas, they either are holding or about to be handed, they will realize the rest of this little tale is not about me at all. It’s about them!

This May marks the 60th anniversary of my high school graduation. You could buy a dozen eggs for 50 cents in 1965. A new car was less than three thousand dollars. A hamburger at Frank’s Dairy Bar cost 40 cents.

I walked down the aisle with Charlotte Melton by my side. Buddy Wiggleton had whispered to me just as we started in, “Are there any words to this music?” as “Pomp and Circumstance” blared out of the loudspeakers.

I half listened to the litany of speakers. I did sneak a peep around at as many of my classmates as I could. Most of us had gone to school together for the past 12 years. Was this the end of it all?

We didn’t have a graduation dance. Or even a party. We did go out to Carroll Lake and hang out for a while. But not everyone was there. We obviously had never graduated before. I guess we were too caught up with “all the possibilities” of life, to ponder on the here and now….

And life did absolutely, positively get between us for sure. But it never separated us. I don’t believe a single day has gone by in the past 60 years that I didn’t think of somebody in that class.

Shoot, if Chubby Checker came on TV singing, “Let’s do the twist,” LaRenda Bradfield started dancing in my mind. As the clock wound down in my first State Championship football game as a coach, I was thinking about Bobby Brewer, John Ingram, Don Melton, and the rest of us running those gosh awful laps after practice our freshman year.

I went back for our ten-year class reunion. We jumped right in like it was the day after we graduated. And then it was 20 years. And 30 and 40 flashed by quicker than you could ever imagine!

None of those speakers told us on graduation night how fast life goes by. No one said you’d better depend on your family and friends…and not so much on world leaders or your bank account. I don’t remember our speaker reminding us to pay attention to the small, everyday things. Love much. Laugh often. Give freely. Care about the little people.

It is important to me that our class holds a 60-year reunion. And it would be nice if someone gave us a dinner. Or honored seating at the homecoming game. Or maybe even a front-page group photo in the McKenzie Banner.

But none of that would really matter. I want to hug LaRenda’s neck (which I’m not sure I’ve ever done) till she can hardly breathe and tell her that I love her. I want to hug James Hastings’ neck (which for sure I’ve never done) and tell him I love him. I want to ask Bobby King if he remembers Deake Bradley making those two game-winning foul shots in the district championship game against Paris.

I want to hear Yogi play a lick or two on his banjo. I want to laugh with Ruth Ann Wiley over how our parents tried to get us “together.” I want to ask Emily Young about her older sister. And I’d like to know if Suzie Cozart remembers her sixth birthday party.

I want to cry with the class one last time because of the seats among us that are forever empty. I wish I had told Buddy I loved him before it was too late. And Pam, Jane, Reggie, Grayline, Beverly, Larry, Charlotte, and the list goes on way too long. I promise you, they are far more than just names on this sheet of paper.

By any way you want to measure it, the Class of 1965 graduated to something….

God Speed to All,
Kes