Last week I went back to my home town of Amarillo. I haven't talked to so many people (outside of my job) in one week - EVER. I wrote that I was going to go there like I wasn't ever doing it again, and that anyone who wanted to see me was free to find me. They found me! No kidding! I was so found!
What floored me the most was that people wanted to find me. It's not like they have been sitting around for the last 18 years worrying about me or even wondering where I went. However, presented with the opportunity to hear a story, they came.
Students I taught over 20 years ago appeared beaming to show photos of their children. Some even brought their children. Co-workers from the school and the "bomb factory" showed up talking of retirement and some even enjoying it now. Friends from my 20's and early 30's appeared again talking of old times like it was last year. Almost everyone brought regards from someone else who couldn't make it to the appointed gatherings. If you wanted to know why they came, you would have to ask them. I had already decided that it didn't matter why they came, only that they stopped what they were doing, and took part in a long overdue homecoming.
What struck me the most was the phone call I received from a former student who couldn't make it to the mini reunion. She was determined to talk to me anyway and when we met, she recounted how she followed a path similar to mine, majoring in chemistry and becoming a science teacher at the school where I had taught. I heard it said from another former teacher that she was the best science teacher that school had employed since myself (and I was pretty awesome despite my moodiness). She wanted me to know that the often moody, idealistic, young science teacher had not been forgotten and was a positive influence. She wanted to understand why I left, so I told the story, now tempered with a more reserved and mature tone then when I had originally lived it. We agreed not wait another 20 years to resume communication.
As I ran ( and I use the term run loosely) to make my connecting flight back to Portland, I was reminded of my youth when I still believed that if I just ran faster or worked harder than the other guy, I would be somebody. Looking back, it's pretty clear that even as an idealistic twenty-something, I already was somebody.
We are all somebody to somebody. Let today's journey allow you to embrace your inner somebody with a thankful heart for the somebodies in your life who have helped you along the way to being that somebody, whoever that is.
Peace! lw
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