Class Reunion

These are class photos from Echoes 1965.  My New Trier High School year book.

(That’s me with the corsage- second row, third from the left. No idea why I’m wearing it.  Maybe this picture was taken on my birthday?)

I dug out the yearbook when I got home a couple of weeks ago.  Because a couple of weeks ago, I went out to dinner with Steve G. and Bruce R.

Close readers of this blog might recognize their names.  You might even know them.

But if you don’t, there is still one thing that is notable about our dinner.

I have known both of them since 1964.

Wait a minute.  I have to do the math.

2015-1964= OMG.

We all met the summer after my freshman year.

Back then, Bruce and Steve were waaaay older than me.

One whole year,

Meshulam Riklis/Tali Sinai Sidebar: Because Bruce was born in January and was one of the oldest in his class, and I was born in November, making me one of the youngest, I thought of him as a very sophisticated, MUCH older man.  He was after all, the very first person I knew – outside of some ancient, rickety older cousins- who had actually reached the advanced age of seventeen.

Now, that was old, man.

Back to the dinner…

Steve and Bruce had put it together.  Could we all meet for dinner on Monday night, place and time TBD?

Great.

And on the night, I dressed with care.

(Not for Bruce and Steve exactly,  More for Lori, Steve’s darling wife.)

I chose a nifty little black and white polka dot skirt, a chic black top and these shoes.

First mistake,

When Bruce picked me up that night, he told me that Lori would not be joining us.  She was out in California, happily dancing attendance on her daughter and a brand new granddaughter born on Father’s Day. Steve would be heading out there in a few days.

But meanwhile, tonight it would just be the three of us.

Three phone calls later, a plan was formulated whereby we would park at Steve’s and then walk to the restaurant.

Second mistake.

See shoe photo.

Beatrix, the restaurant, was like forty-seven miles away from Steve’s place.

Now, under normal foot ware circumstances, I like to walk.  I have been doing it since I was a kid and I’m pretty good at it.  And the weather was glorious.  But…

My kicks were not conducive to making good time.  And the unrelenting, mean “Uber” references and snide offers to call me a cab, dovetailed nicely with the guys’ sighs and threats of losing our reservation.

I hobbled as fast as I could, and nine hours later, they showed us to a very nice reserved table right next to a floor-to-ceiling glass window.

Which the guys immediately wanted opened.

This maneuver needed management approval and the concerted efforts of three different people to accomplish.

Then Steve told them that I was too chilly and asked if they could shut it again.

He was just teasing.  Then he teased the waitress, we both teased Bruce about his social life, then Bruce and I picked on Steve about everything.

No one teased me.  They revere me.

Not.

Over dinner we talked about the Supreme Court gay marriage ruling, the tragic events of Charlestown, the idiocy of Donald Trump and his fans, skiing, some upcoming trips, grandkids.  (As I said, Steve just had his second.  He has a grandson.  Bruce’s daughter has an almost two year old little boy and she is expecting twin boys any minute.)

We talked about theater, softball, life in general.

We all had no complaints.

Pooh pooh pooh.***

***Said to ward off the Evil Eye.

But I only wished that the teenaged me could have eavesdropped on the three of us.

I can tell you exactly what we all talked about back in 1964.

Nothing.

Like Seinfeld.

Back then we just listened to WLS radio and laughed.

And we discussed who was cute, and who was going out with who, and who had a crush on who, and who was such a creep, and who had a cool car.

(Okay, that was me.  I still care about that.)

We would yak for hours- especially Steve and me- and never say anything.

(Although he could always make me howl with laughter.)

And although I clearly remember Bruce taking me out, and me reading his parent’s contraband copy of Lady Chatterly’s Lover one afternoon, I can not recollect one single meaningful thing we ever said to each other.

Conversation?  Not our long suit.

Back in high school, I wasn’t all that interested in witty repartee or current events or politics or SCOTUS.

I was much more interested in gossip, movies, clothes and breaking hearts.

But here’s the thing.

Fifty-one years later, we three are all still friends.  We’ve weathered divorces and problems and time and space and somehow…

Tonight Steve and I had the chicken.  Bruce had the halibut.  And we all shared the salad and the carmel pie.

And so much more.

Thanks, guys.

And fifty-one years from now, let’s do it all over again.

Meet you in the rotunda.

(I won’t wear heels.)