The Oppenheimer Report 5/10/09

Last weekend I went back for my 35th high school reunion at The Taft School, the boarding school I’d attended in Connecticut for the last three years of my high school career. Driving down to Watertown, Ct. from Toronto last Friday afternoon, I began to have ambivalent feelings, and I wondered if I shouldn’t simply turn around and go home. Without going into great detail, I recently retired from the business I was working in for over twenty-five years, my nest egg has been downgraded from “Robin” to “Quail”, we recently completed construction of a home which took well over two years, nearly driving Shauna and me over the edge, and presently I find myself charged with care giving responsibilities which have grown exponentially over the past 18 months. At 53 years of age, as I take stock of my life so far, I don’t feel particularly proud of my accomplishments to date. There I was, around Binghamton, N.Y., driving down to a reunion, at a school I have not visited in over twenty-five years, to see classmates I have not seen for at least that long. What was I DOING? This was madness! They’re all successful and I’m a loser. At a time when I am particularly vulnerable and confused, why am I throwing myself into a situation which could be a sucker punch to my self esteem, or even worse, to my sanity?! Apprehension gradually developed into anxiety, and by the time the five hundred mile drive was over, I was a quivering mess. At least I didn’t turn around.

After I’d checked in to the hotel, I headed over to the campus for a quick look around, before the school would be crowded with alumni. Much has changed, but as well, much has not. I wandered through the halls, poked my head into the old auditorium, where I remember the whole school assembled before dinner every weeknight, visited the dining room, then walked around out back to see some of the newer additions to the campus. I took a picture of the sun setting over one of the old dorms, and as the shutter clicked, I was momentarily transported back to 1973, when I had taken the same picture. A déjà vu moment. Time passes, but some things remain the same. By now, I was beginning to feel a little better about this imminent reunion. Somehow I belonged here. Though still apprehensive about seeing my classmates, I realized that Taft had played an important part of in my adolescent development, and I very much needed and wanted to revisit this institution and the people who were a part of it. I chugged a beer for courage and joined some of my classmates for the informal dinner our reunion chair had arranged in Woodbury. By the end of that dinner (during which I failed to recognize at least one close friend) I was reminded that this was going to be better than o.k. I had the opportunity to meet and talk to some interesting people, in some cases for the first time. I felt comfortable with almost everyone and really enjoyed myself. The next night was the big dinner, and that turned out to be a lot of fun as well.

Of late, I have been so focused on the present and the future, that I have had little inclination to revisit the past. I needed to remember what it was I got out of Taft, because I’d put that part of my life on the shelf. So much about my life in the past twenty-five years has been a random series of events to which I have reacted, however successfully. Upon reflection, I have not been particularly successful at steering my life towards happiness and growth, and my fear was that seeing all these classmates would shine a spotlight on my failure. The fact is, nobody seemed to care, and I was reminded that nobody escapes the relentless march of time. Given enough time, life eventually kicks us all in the ass. If it’s not health, it’s emotional or financial problems. A long time ago, I stopped seeking karmic retribution, or epiphanies, or any meaning that could explain why I am where I am right now. What I have tried to do in my life is focus on the friends and family who can help me through the journey. Taft was a good school when I attended. Academically, it’s probably an even better school now. But I did not come back to visit the school; I came back to see the people who shared time with me at that school. We were inmates together. Some of us had a better experience than others, but we all shared the experience, for better or for worse. After this reunion, I was reminded how many good friends I’d made at Taft, and that realization came at a critical time for me. I can say without doubt that my association with those people has improved my life, and though I may not see them much anymore, it is a great comfort to be reminded that they know me and I know them.

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2009 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED