60 Years

My dad's high school yearbooks stayed in the third drawer of the cherry secretary in the living room. When I was a little girl, I used to love to get them out and look at them, searching through the black and white pages for pictures of my dad as a young man. There were some, but not many, and my sisters and I were amused by the amount of dark hair on my dad's head. He was always smiling, with a twinkle in his eyes, which while gray in the photograph, were crystal blue in real life.

There was Dad as a freshman, all knees and elbows, with bushy eyebrows and a shock of black hair on his forehead. There was Dad as a sophomore, more confident looking, but a boy yet. There he was as a junior, becoming the man we will love one day. And, finally, Dad as a senior, off to face the world and all of its challenges. Dad as a young man, ready for anything.

In the senior yearbook, we would read autographs from his friends, these young men about whom we knew nothing, and we'd wonder what they were like. Did Dad get into trouble with these guys? Did they play sports together? Did they gripe about the cafeteria food like we did? Did they miss home? Talk about girls? Complain about teachers? What were they like, and why didn't Dad keep in touch with them?

My sisters and I would study Dad's classmates and decide who was cute, who looked nice, who was athletic. We laughed at their hair, all the same style, slicked back with Brylcream, shining for the camera. We marveled at them all in suits and dress shoes, all the time except in the gym. We'd wonder what they looked like now, and if, like Dad, they'd lost their hair too. We'd try to read the messages written in blue ink, fading with time, and thought it was cool that Dad had a nickname, "Fitz."

Dad lost touch with these guys once life set in. It's hard to maintain friendships over time and miles, and with a wife, three little girls, and a mortgage, some things just got put aside until later. "Later" came and went. Dad attended his 25th class reunion and his 50th, and a friend or two stopped in over the years on his way from one place to another, but that was the extent of his connection with his old classmates from Campion. There was something there, though, under the surface that told us that his experiences in Prairie du Chien, while difficult, had been some of the best times of his life, and that he missed his old friends.

When my mom died, Dad's circle, always small, closed even further. He withdrew into himself, and except for church, pinochle, and the Red Cross, he was with my sisters and me or home alone much of the time. Rarely did we see Dad interact with men his age, and even more infrequently did we see him smile.

This summer, amidst the uproar of moving Dad from his house of 42 years to a place 3 doors down from me, Dad got the invitation to his 60th high school reunion. Sixty years! My sisters and I were amazed that folks would want to get together after all those years, but I guess it spoke to the fondness we saw in Dad's eyes whenever he talked about Campion and his friends there.

Dad can no longer drive on the interstate, and there was no way he could fly alone, so Colleen offered to drive him to St. Louis so that he could join in the festivities. I thought it would be a great opportunity to get away with Dad for a weekend, and when Colleen proposed it to him, he literally jumped at the chance.

Once Colleen and I had worked out our home details, we began to make plans for the reunion. I called Charlie Meehan about adding Dad to the list, made reservations at the hotel, and ordered our vegetarian dinners. Dad called me several times during the week to check on the status of things, "Did you get the reservations made?" "Have you talked to Charlie? Are you sure it's okay if I come?" I could tell he was very excited.

Friday arrived, and we picked Dad up a little after 1 and headed to St. Louis. The drive was nice, just the 3 of us, and it brought back memories of trips long past. We arrived at the hotel around 4 p.m.

As we headed up to our rooms, we began to see older guests walking past, and Dad would regard each one closely to see if they were friends of old. The two men would look at each other trying to match the man they saw before them with the boy they remembered. All of a sudden, one of them would say, "Johnny Fitz?" and they would laugh and shake hands and the reunion would begin.

Dad would introduce Colleen and me immediately, and the friend would always thank us for bringing Dad and comment on what a nice kid he had been and how glad they were that he had come. The whole weekend, Colleen and I were looking for stories about Dad and any questionable scrapes he might have gotten himself in, but the whole time, all we heard was how nice Johnny was and what a gentleman he had been. (Nothing we didn't already know!)

It was interesting to watch Dad that weekend. He was still the very quiet man I have always known, but he seemed to come out of the shell he had built around himself since Mom died. He smiled more. He laughed more. He talked more. The twinkle returned to his eyes.

As the weekend passed, Colleen and I remarked that it was almost spiritual for us. We felt an instant connection to Dad's old friends. It was incredibly moving for us to watch the care and commitment they had for one another, even 60 years after graduation. "Here, let me help you with that." "No, please, you go first." "Really, it's my pleasure." Over and over again, we witnessed kindness after kindness, from Charlie Meehan's door to door shuttle service for Dad to others giving up a chair for Dad to sit down to someone bringing him a cup of coffee.

We were honored to be included with the wives in receiving corsages for Saturday's dinner. Camp's kind words about us being examples of filial piety were so moving that they brought me to tears. In fact, it was our pleasure to bring Dad to the reunion, and a small repayment to him for all that he has done for us over our lives.

I really enjoyed attending mass both Saturday and Sunday mornings. The intimacy of each celebration was so nice. I loved the fact that former teachers and classmates, now priests, were celebrants. It just made everything so much more meaningful.

As the weekend drew to a close, I found myself looking to make one more connection with one of Dad's classmates. One more hug. One more smile. One more minute with these guys I'd grown so fond of over the course of the weekend. Colleen and I both said we felt like we'd inherited about 30 new godfathers that weekend and how blessed we were for it!

I can't begin to thank these men enough for opening up their circle for my sister and me. We felt instantly welcomed and part of the Campion family. And what a wonderful gift it was for us to see Dad in such a different light! It was a weekend I will cherish for the rest of my life, and I hope that I am one day blessed to spend time with these men again even for a moment. It was an honor to get to know each and every Knight. Thank you for sharing your weekend with us!