Bev Strukamp showed up at our 50th (gulp!) St. Chris eighth grade reunion in a telltale plaid skirt reminiscent of our long-ago school days.
“I told Sister Lou Ann that my white blouse with the Peter Pan collar was in the wash and to please not send me home,” she told us as we burst into laughter.
Back in the day, when we wore the obligatory school uniform, we defied our principal by rolling up the waistband to shorten the skirt. It was a daring act of courage.
Today, in the midst of a stubborn pandemic, courage took on a higher meaning as we chose friendship over fear. Joy over worry. Living in the moment over overthinking an unknown future.
On a sultry July day, my childhood friends, our principal, two teachers, a kickball coach and a 93-year-old room mother, made the traditional pilgrimage to our house for a potluck dinner and a smorgasbord of stories.
Before the first chime of the doorbell, my phone dinged with news of negative rapid COVID tests. I laughed because I only suggested we all take precautionary tests. I had no intention of collecting the results, but “Catholic guilt” — like our friendship — runs deep. We had learned well the lessons from the nuns and priests who taught us. We are our brother’s (and sister’s) keeper.
Steve Stormer, a retired baker, arrived with a homemade, party-sized pineapple upside down cake. Mike Krzan commandeered the kitchen and mixed up Moscow Mule cocktails. Others crowded around the table to look through scrapbooks, class and reunion photos, a mimeographed seventh grade literary magazine, a theatrical program for “Sure As You’re Born,” an autograph book and other memorabilia from our years together at the Vandalia, Ohio, parochial school.
It would not be a St. Chris eighth grade reunion without the retelling — and embellishment — of the infamous “eraser incident” involving class troublemakers Gregg Finnegan and Matt Stoermer. Each blames the other for throwing a chalkboard eraser that resulted in a crucifix falling on an overhead projector and smashing its glass face.
Amidst the laughter and a few tears, I felt joy and a rush of gratitude. Too often we chase the trappings of life — money, prestige, the latest gadget — only to find we’re living shallow lives. Long-lasting friendships enrich our days beyond measure.
“This is truly one of the joys in my life: knowing and loving these people like family,” said Terri Rubey Neff, a retired school teacher.
Mickey Dickman, my childhood best friend, agreed: “This is my second family.”
Over a friendly game of euchre at one of our early reunions, Mike Krzan’s son teased us, “You’re reliving your glory days.”
No childhood is perfect, but in a world upended by COVID, political turmoil and divisiveness, we yearn for simpler times — and deeper connections. That’s why we found ourselves at this reunion hugging each other more tightly than ever.
“You don’t know how much this means to us,” said Steve Stormer about why he made the 340-mile trek from Clarksville, Tennessee, for the gathering. “I won’t go to my high school reunion, but I would never miss this one.
“We grew up together.”