In the last few weeks, I have attended two reunions. One was for the Bishop Watterson class of 1981. The other was for my last living blood uncle. Both are reminders of time, of friends and of family.

I was invited to the ’81 reunion by one of my former students. I began teaching at Watterson in 1979, so this was my second graduating class. I had a good number of them as students. I also took about a dozen students on a trip to London and Paris, the summer between their junior and senior year.

I was proud of my lately faulty memory that I remembered most of the students with whom I talked either by name or by face. Although they are older, in fact my former students are in their sixties now, when I connected with them that night, I saw before me the younger, high school version of themselves. Many of my former students are grandparents. Many are retired. This fact made me feel both old and somewhat blessed that I still have the energy and enthusiasm for working.

There were stories I told them that they had forgotten and there were stories they told me that I had little or no memory of. I was the assistant director of their spring musical, “South Pacific”. One of the first students who greeted me was a big strapping gentleman who re-introduced himself as “Stewpot,” the character he played in the show.

I was humbled by some of the nice things they said about me. It is good to know, all those years later, that I had some small impact on their lives.

Last weekend I travelled to the outskirts of Baltimore, Maryland. My cousin, Tom, was hosting my Uncle Nortie, 85 years of age, who came up from Florida where he lives with his daughter and her husband. Nortie is my father’s only brother. I last saw him at my mom’s funeral almost ten years ago. When my father died in 2021, he was too ill to come to Columbus for the service. We arranged a phone call that was broadcast to all of us at dad’s wake.

While I am close to many of my relatives because of my yearly trips to the beach, Nortie’s family is not a part of that annual sojourn. I hadn’t seen many of my cousins on that side for many years. Although I didn’t know the wives, the children and grandchildren of my cousins very well, I again recognized in my cousin’s older faces the youngsters I used to know.

My Uncle Nortie was in remarkably good health and he and my Aunt Libby, who is 87, reminisced about old memories, including one where 10-year-old Nortie attempted to mail his friend to Hollywood because his friend was in love with the actress Joan Collins. Nortie packed him with 12 peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and a milkshake for the trip. The post office soon learned of the contents of the box and let him sit in the mail room all day before finally releasing him.

I also learned that my grandfather, who was an excellent athlete, played for the Chicago Bears football team for two games as a place kicker when he lived for a time in Rockville, Illinois. This was, of course, in the infancy of football so it would not have been unusual for someone just to suit up and play although the how and why is lost to time.

I am always reluctant to give up my precious free time on the weekend, but I am always glad when I go to these events. The passage of time in our lives is swift. Anytime that I can connect with people from my past is a reminder of the blessings that God has bestowed upon me in my life by gifting me with the precious people who have touched me and helped me to grow. It is good to break bread and share memories of the past as we make new ones daily. Each day is precious. Carpe diem!

Jim Silcott