We no longer judge by the external standards of clothes and popularity, but give each other space to be and to become.
Last weekend I got together with eight of my high school classmates from the next-to-the-last graduating class of Tudor Hall School for Girls. (The school merged with Park School for Boys to form Park Tudor in the fall of 1970.) We had such a good time at our fortieth reunion four years ago that we have stayed in touch with lunches for the locals and e-mails for the rest of us. Last weekend found us at a camp ground/convention center in southern Indiana where we stayed up way too late talking and laughing, remembering and sharing some of secrets we hid in those days before we walked down the aisle of Second Presbyterian Church in Indianapolis, wearing white formals and carrying bouquets of red roses.
We nine were not best friends “in the day.” (Tina tells me I once informed her that she was going to hell. “I got over it,” she told me when I apologized for my insensitivity.) But we shared the formative years of our lives—years that birthed a transition in our culture from white gloves, hand-written thank-you notes and home-made prom decorations to bare feet, burned bras and protest marches. I think my grand daughter is as likely to burn her bra as she is to hand write a thank you note. The twenty-first century is a different place!
Some of us are widows now, some divorced. Most have children and many of us have grandchildren. Some are retired; others had to return to work this week, but for two days we toasted the girls (we’ll not forget them) that we once were and those who shared our world. Beth thinks we should write a book—a sort of collective memoir of a changing time. Perhaps we should.
LeAnne Hardy has lived in six countries on four continents. Her books come out of her cross-cultural experiences and her passion to use story to convey spiritual truths in a form that will permeate lives.
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