49 Years and A Wakeup

Across the Fence #339

It’s that time of year when high school students are preparing for graduation. Those seniors are finally realizing how quickly four years can go. I can almost remember my high school graduation. I say almost, because it’s been a long time since the Westby High School class of ’62 walked across the stage and were handed a diploma. That’s 1962!

For those of you who paid attention during math class, you should be able to do the subtraction. For those of you who had other things on your mind, the answer is 49. Math was not one of my strong points, but I know this is the correct number, because I recently received a letter informing me that I’m on the planning committee for our 50th reunion next summer.

Uff da, that number can’t possibly be right. I remember when my mother and father had their 50th reunions and they were old at the time. At least I thought they were. I remember thinking they would be mighty small reunions because they couldn’t have that many classmates who were still above ground. And now, here we are, one year away from that momentous occasion.

Truth be told, high school was not the best time of my life. I don’t have very many good memories. I was talking with a fellow classmate, Monte Nelson, about our high school experiences one day. He said that high school was not a happy time for him either. He said, “High school was the longest twelve years of my life.” Just to set the record straight, Monte gave me permission to use his name in this story. They lived on a farm near Coon Valley. He went on to say that his family was very poor. How poor were they? Monte said they were so poor that his mother had to make stone soup for supper, but didn’t have anything else to throw in the pot with the stones. Then in the morning, his father would crush the remaining stones so he could put them in his sandwich to take to school. Now that was so poor, even I couldn’t come up with a good story to out-poor him!

I reminded Monte about one of our classmates who liked to intimidate people by hitting them in the arm. One day in Ag class, before our teacher arrived, he hauled off and nailed me in the upper arm. It really hurt and my “Hothead Sven” gene suddenly erupted. I grabbed him and we both went tumbling over a table and I landed on the floor on top of him. Just then, Mr. Nestingen came into the room. I must have looked like the guilty party as I sat straddling him with my fist raised, ready to deliver another blow. The fight came to an abrupt halt as Mr. Nestingen took control of the situation. At least my classmate never messed with me again.

Ah yes, those good old high school days. The ensuing 49 years have seen several of our classmates head off to that big reunion in the great beyond, including the guy I had the altercation with. Ardy Sloane is another classmate who recently joined them. She died last fall while getting ready for school one morning. Since both our names started with “S,” she usually sat behind me in class. Ardy taught English and Journalism at North-Linn High School in Iowa, and was able to read my column each week in the Linn News-Letter in Central City, Iowa. She often sent me e-mails commenting on my stories. I miss her comments and often got ideas for stories from her. She commented one time that she and I would probably be the only people at our 50th reunion who aren’t retired. Even though teaching could be frustrating at times, she still loved it.

Regarding teaching, she once wrote: “I’m not a teacher who believes in pigeon-holing kids into high, low, and in-between potential. Poop on that. In my view, that just encourages and reinforces learned behavior. I believe every student is capable of excellence if encouraged.” What a great attitude toward teaching and her student’s abilities. I suspect her students will look back on their high school years and have her on their list of favorite teachers.

Now she’s gone and maybe I’ll be the only one still working full-time when we have our 50th reunion next summer. Uff da.

I’ve got to admit, I’ve only attended three of my class reunions. That probably had something to do with it not being the best time of my life. I did attend our 40th and had a good time visiting with classmates. The nice part is that Westby isn’t a large school with thousands of students. We all knew each other, and believe it or not, most of us can still recognize each other, even though most of us look nothing like we did when we were in high school. I also liked that because we were older, no one was trying to impress anyone, as people tend to do in their younger years. What you see is what you get. Take it or leave it. I like that attitude. As one classmate said, “Why didn’t we all talk together like this in high school?”

That was a great question. It would have made the high school experience better for everyone.