And Just Like That, 30 Years. Um, Time. How You Play All of Us Like You Do. It's Beautifully Cruel. Nefariously beautiful

Look at this gorgeous Northstar, Class of 1990, and wonderful friend from high school.

Phew. Melanie Nappa. 30 years later, and her oldest will be attending Fairfield University. How does this happen?

Time is beautifully cruel. Nefariously beautiful.

In my senior year of high school, Melanie and I were trained as counselors in North Syracuse, where we worked with young people who experienced trauma and had difficult home situations. The social workers we worked with were patient, intelligence, instructive, and mentoring. Once a week for a year we'd meet for reflection, and then with the young people we were assigned. We were 18. What did we know? Actually, we were sponges and it is remarkable to learn, 30 years later, what became of us. It is also remarkable that our senior year internship stayed with us as adults.

Chitunga and I met up witht he Nappa-Carrols last night for a good ol' high school parking lot party. In other words, we tailgated outside their hotel. Melanie and Tom were dropping their oldest, Mikayla, at Fairfield University for her freshman year (she, of course, is not pictured here). On the way up to their hotel (about 8 miles from our house) I said to Chitunga, "You'll see someday how odd this aging thing is. I am looking at myself in the mirror wondering if they'll recognize this mid-life, aging fart."

I totally forgot that Tom was Captain Northstar in his senior year, a roll Dave Grover played when we inherited the reigns. I have vague memories of his humor, zest for life, and popularity, and I remember that Melanie and him started dating. He's now a dentist and, like me, Melanie went into education, earned her Ph.D from Syracuse, and is now employed by the University.

Crazy. Our paths strayed so far apart, but folded inward once again.

Truth is, Melanie was one of those glimmers of hope and love when I was in high school. I always thought highly of her, and was glad we were brought together in our senior year. We graduated with so many kids, so having specific memories with most was rare. Rather, there are snapshots and polaroids of the way it once was. Young adults...adults so young...for sure.

Time and friendship are conspirators, and they test us with definitions of 'unconditional.' I texted Melanie last night and said, "We're family now. Your daughter has an uncle on campus." Unconditional friendship is holding one another up without obligations, and always knowing we have one another's back. That's almost a Northstar pact.

I loved catching up with Tom and Melanie last night, tracing the steps of who we once were with who we are now (from CNY parties to Vince Vaughn movies being shot in our homes...who would of guessed any of it?). I didn't realize Tom was a Cherry Heights kid, too, as he started stating the names of his friends from school. The memories began coming back. In high school, each year becomes a massive divider of the human beings, even if one class has vague knowledge of the other. Tom graduated with Cynde, so he was amongst the upperclassmen giants to be admired from afar. Although two years apart, they always seemed unapproachable and enormous. Ah, they were just kids like we were, doing the North Syracuse thing.

So wonderful to reunite and to have a few minutes of temporary pause in the chaos of adulthood (all of us fresh with Covid-19 negative results).

A highlight of the week, if not entire summer. Here's to more gatherings in healthier times!

Note to high school kids: cherish every second of time and space that adolescence offers. Now will not be tomorrow. Yesterday will in front of you ad nauseam before you know it.

Yes, time is beautifully cruel. Nefariously beautiful (how lucky to be alive right now). Phew.

RIP, Chadwick Boseman. The loss, evidence for the court. Too soon...way too soon. An absolutely iconic actor who gave T'Challa life and offered young people a superhero they've always needed, but never knew was out there. You are the story. You wrote it for so many of us. Carpe Diem.