photo courtesy of Julie Dalby

• You can go home again.
  In fact, you must.
  Home may be a  physical place but it is also contained in the people who lived and
  shared the air with you during those young years.
  It’s fun to see which landmarks have changed and the eternal  fixtures which scream home.
  Whether you have remained, moved away or have family to visit,
  home is best expressed in the company of others.
• History is precious and priceless.
  It is difficult to express the feeling of seeing the faces of  childhood
  wrapped up in the package of  adulthood within the confines of a single room.
  A group who has traversed the 3 R’s, booster shots lines, first love,pimples, geometry,football games,
  assemblies, prom and broken hearts.
  An explosion of life and growth  compressed in the expanse of 12 years.
• Revisiting memories is healing and often hilarious.
  Let’s face it…whether you have walked the school halls wearing blue eye shadow and a perm gone all wrong or
  worn high-waisted bell bottoms or  long knee socks on the
  basketball court, it’s easier to release the memories of the past when you remember we all have
  pictures that reveal our questionable  “fashion sense”.
  We confess our personal  litany of embarrassing moments and find laughter
  and shared experience.
  It’s the  best kind of therapy…dinner and adult beverages are included!
• Fear is universal.
  Fear is often one-sided and inward.
  It is easy to focus on how we used to look.
  Worrying if we will be remembered.
  Concerned that perhaps we have changed drastically.
  Everyone has these thoughts but beauty arrives when
  each person presents themselves to one another.
  It’s as if we are offering each person a gift.
  The gift of ourselves.
• More or less
  Class of 1982,
  we have faces etched with more  lines.
  We have less hair.
  We have less need for belts.
  Some were given less years and we miss them.
  We gained more Facebook friends.
  We have more courage.
  We have more compassion.
  We have more that unites and less that divides.

When the last hug was  exchanged and the final photo snapped,
the  lingering emotion is one of realizing  the gift of knowing this
assembly of people years ago and getting to know them all over again.

We have arrived at this precise place in life
through the best and sometimes worst of
childhood cemented with highs and lows
of adulthood, constant like the rolling hills of the Palouse.

This past weekend, we locked eyes with our former
selves and found how all the varied miles of living
landed us each in the safe and secure place called
quality and special.

Pullman Class of 1982,

I am proud to be one of your number.

Thanks for teaching me even after

our school days have long been over!