We were the class of ’70

We were children pretending to be adults.

This was our seeding, the setting of roots

until our transplantation. If these were our glory days

what the hell have we been doing for 50 years?

We were the bridge between the gap

a bridge over troubled waters

waiting for the bus at McCord’s

running to Goodnight’s and Andy’s for lunch.

We were our favorite teachers.

Did you sign the petition to save Mr. Sinclair?

We were angry, we were confused, we were rebellious

we were happy and we were sad.

We were drowning in a hormonal cesspool they called summer gym.

We were on a rollercoaster racing through 10th Street hollow.

We were Y-Teen dances. We were a Barton Beach bonfire

running through the woods, swimming the creek to get away.

We were choir and band and orchestra. We were art and shop classes.

We were school plays. We were debate team.

We were boy’s sports and a white gloved cheer block

before Title IX leveled the playing field…thank God.

We were working 30 hours a week falling asleep in Physics

skipping class, failing Edie Hopkins Senior Civics

because we knew John Birch and John Galt

were the same man and they were both fantasies.

We were sons and daughters of Jefferson

before the truth of Sally Hemmings.

We were John, Malcolm, Bobby and Martin hoping the gun would misfire,

we wished we could have been there to tell Marilyn it’s okay to grow old,

we still lie to our classmates that we understood what Zappa was singing

and we still don’t know why a school of higher learning

insists on spelling Bronchos with an ‘H’.

We were Walter Cronkite before pundits masqueraded as news.

We were Buddhist monks on fire in the streets of Saigon

We were body bags in Vietnam and Kent State

marching in cadence on bases and in streets

screaming at one another, while McNamara pulled strings

and told us lies. We were Nixon, Mayor Daley, Abbie Hoffman

and Bobby Seal gagged and tied to a chair. We were hiding from

demons and angels whose names we wore on bracelets with the initials M.I.A.

We were the weekend parties we went to or wish we had.

We were skinny dipping in the creek trying to swim upstream.

We were dancing with the Hamm’s Beer Bear during Cub games

while the St. Louis Cardinals won the World Series again and again and again.

We were working on mysteries without any clues

discussing the merits of Easy Rider as a 20th century

celluloid Book of Revelation, while hitchhiking without a map.

We were racing on Haggerty Lane in our daddy’s station wagon

trying to beat a race car a classmate built in his garage.

We were meeting you at Arni’s, Frisch’s, the Frozen Custard or the Patio

parking at Sears, racing into the country with someone we just met at Park & Eat.

We were those who knew where they were going,

and we were those who were two fries short of a Happy Meal

searching McDonald’s parking lot for what we were missing

and we were those who didn’t care and we were those

who just wanted to get the hell out of Dodge.

We were lost in that sterile new building

but found our way to the door by spring.

Forgive me my adolescent sins and indiscretions

And I will forgive you yours.

Be kind to yourself, because how can you be kind to others

unless you learn to be kind to yourself.

The glass is half full – not half empty.

Raise your glass to classmates who would not or could not come

and hold it high for those who passed before their time

and who are dearly missed.

Repeat after me what Mr. Martin taught us

at that very first convo of our high school years:

Jeff Excels in Many Areas!

Jeff Excels in Many Areas!

Jeff Excels in Many Areas!

8-28-21