The Warp Threads Of Life

A lifetime. That’s what it’s been. We’ve ebbed and flowed, gone and come again, bled, vomited, and died on each other at some point. Yet, here we all are, still. Because that’s what you do. You stick together like thick glue, oozing and holding on, sometimes only by a thin stringy wisp of epoxy. But you hold on. You walk through the muck, you cry and scream, and you drink the glue. You bathe in that damn glue. Because you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that this glue is the truth, the depth, the thing that will see you through.

I met Sally when we were four years old. Tiny dancers, we were, headed into what would be a true life long relationship. Both late-birthday girls; in today’s world four years old seems so little to start kindergarten. But there we were, navigating life at that ripe old age. It was a different time, and we were happy to be there. Twenty-one of us, in fact, were there starting this journey together. Twenty-one of us, in fact still on this journey, now with others alongside.

Mrs. Harrison was our teacher. Well seasoned, spinster, yet not a mean old lady, she was an all-around favorite, and a wonderfully gifted teacher. We were guinea pigs at a university research school, which would prove to be fun actually, before it was all over with. It was a different way to school to a certain degree, and we all managed quite fine. Our school was a kindergarten through twelfth grade, and little did we know we’d spend thirteen years breathing each other’s realities. But we did. And it doesn’t stop. It never will.

It is deep and rutty and stronger than a steel poured foundation.

Heather, Nancy, Shannon and a whole group more blurred into the class later. At our school the class sizes were capped for kindergarten through sixth grade, then in seventh grade about forty more kids joined. Outsiders. Competition. Little did we know at the outset that if we’d just relax about it all, we’d become each other’s strength. It took some time, and we did get there, but sometimes the pain was tough.

Because we were a K through 12, there were also many siblings at our school, and parents were expected to participate in school functions often. Most of us know our friend’s parents and siblings almost as well as we know our friends. We often called our friend’s parents “Mom” and “Dad,” and thought nothing of hopping in the car with a brother or sister that wasn’t actually our own. Our school had no busses, just older siblings driving youngers, carpools of neighbors, and kids hitching rides with whomever they could find on any given day.

Our upper grade levels had about 90 kids each; enough to have small friend groups, yet still know everyone and all their business. Which we did. We were one big venn diagram within one giant circle. A cohesive separation. Sounds odd to describe it as such, but it was perfectly normal to us, and worked like a charm.

Our school was a research school located on FSU’s campus. Education, biology, psychology majors and the like, used us for their research studies. There were always kids getting pulled from class to participate in whatever the college kids and professors were trying to prove. We loved it because we got out of class. I don’t know that we truly understood the implications, but I do know we didn’t care what the research was, we were just free from our lessons for a little while. One such study was a dozen years long. My senior year I was pulled to go for a study in which I was shown a basic math problem: 2+2=4, and then shown 4=2+2. When I was asked my thoughts, I said they were equal equations. Then the researcher laughed and said, “would you like me to tell you what you said in the first grade?” I was stunned. But, sure, go ahead and embarrass me, because I knew there was no telling what I’d come up with. 4=2+2, He said my 5-year-old self looked at it, looked at him, and squarely said, “that’s backwards.” Well, I was not wrong, but was also quite glad I’d been properly informed a few years down the road. We both got a good laugh out of it, and to this day I’m amazed that whatever research he was doing, he found 21 of us to do it with 12 years later. Part of the beauty of our school.

Our teachers had a minimum standard requirement of higher education. A master’s degree was required, but looking back now, we’ve realized that most of our teachers had a PhD. We were fortunate to have some brilliant people put up with us. And I do mean put up with. We were a glorious handful.

When we graduated in 1986 we were ready to take over the world – or so we thought. Most of us headed to college somewhere, some went to trade school, some straight to a career. We swore we’d keep in touch, but you know how that goes. Time passes, new friendships are made, people move and addresses are lost. Life gets in the way of life.

But that’s when the magic of Florida High comes pouring in decades later. Our venn diagram does its work. Somebody kept in touch with somebody else, and the overlapping friend groups come back together into one, once again. We just recently witnessed the very thing that makes us the special group we are – our 40 year class reunion.

My heart is still smiling.

We were able to track down about 80 percent of our group, and about 20 of our classmates were able to attend. We had a 10 and 20 year reunion, skipped having the 25 or 30, and decided it had been far too long since we’d seen, touched, and actually talked with each other.

We need one another.

So the planning, tracking down, and information sharing began. It’s different now that we’re all adults with life and kids and grandkids and work and all manner of scatter across the continent. So we took what we could get with those we could get it with and have vowed to do it again in 5 years, giving much more notice for people to make plans and come hug necks.

Because we need one another.

Because we built one another.

We will continue to build one another, I believe, because most all things come full circle. And our venn diagram circle border is holding us all tight. And we are older, and wiser, and weathered, and life-hardened, and here for one another.

And it is beautiful.

Because there is something amazing about spending your foundational years with the same people. They know you, they see you, they hear you, and they love you. They are a part of your fabric. They are the longest threads, save for your actual DNA family, in your tapestry. If one unravels, they all unravel. Yes, they were shiny and new and strong and even. Now? Now they are the long warp threads on the loom that hold the faded and worn, beautiful colors and designs together in that tapestry. A way home, a roadmap to comfort, a deep breath released bringing peace and relief. Because there is love, safety, and a deep knowing. A love that cannot be bought, contrived, or made up.

It just is.

It exists in the stories. It exists in the laughter. It exists in tears.

It exists in the air we breathe and the knowing that one phone call is all it would take to rally an army on behalf of any one of us if need be.

It exists within the twenty-one of us who started together in K-5 and finished together in 12th. It exists in the seventy others who joined us somewhere along the way. It even exists in the teachers we had and run across from time to time, who remember our names and can even tell a funny story or two.

To those who came and celebrated with us, thank you. Thank you for letting me hug your neck. Thank you for picking up where our last conversation took a breath. Thank you for loving each other and me. To those who couldn’t join us this time, we’ll see you in 5.

Thank you for being you. Thank you for being a part of the foundation that built you and me and everyone in our world. We will always be a part of each other. We will always be Florida High Demons, Class of ’86.