The biggest frustration with a Friday evening, all-day Saturday high school reunion is simple: there’s not enough time. Not enough time to sit, settle in, and have a real, meaty conversation with old friends. Just a quick hug, a handful of sentences to catch up, then—before you know it—someone else walks up for their own hug and a brief exchange.

Our high school holds an all-school reunion, which is great in the sense that you can see people from older and younger classes, but not so great if you’re hoping to go deeper than the usual where you’ve been, what you’ve done, how life’s turned out. Still, despite the quick pace, I found this reunion especially satisfying. We had a strong showing from our graduating class, and though I didn’t get to speak to everyone, I connected with many—most of whom I’d known since first grade. I also caught up with folks from the classes ahead and behind mine, including several who had been close to my late brothers and sister. That was particularly touching since we share a mutual love for Leslie, John, Jim, and George. I even had good chats with some of my little brother Sam’s friends, who are five years younger than I am. Growing up in a town of 7,000 in the 1950s and ’60s made those kinds of cross-age friendships easy to come by. We were all woven together.

I carry memories with so many of these people that go well beyond school assemblies, football games, and cruising the drag on Friday nights. These are friends I still see regularly on Facebook (one of the few real advantages of that platform). I get to glimpse their families, their travels, their celebrations, their heartaches, and their hard-earned joys. But no amount of Facebook posts can match the sweetness of standing face-to-face with old friends, sharing a laugh, a hug, or a quick kiss on the cheek.

Some of the conversations I had this weekend came in lovely little snippets:

• “We had so much fun at those slumber parties at your house, Len.”
• “Your dad was such a good man.”
• “I miss George. I see him in your face.”
• “I was one of Leslie’s best friends.”
• “Remember when we’d sneak out at night, push the VW down the street, and then go cruise the drag?”
• “Remember when Sam would run around with that towel tied around his neck like a superhero cape?”
• “Your mom taught me Sociology at Grayson County College.”
• “They just tore down the old sale barn. It was never better than when your dad ran it.”
• “I remember Jim through the Civil Air Patrol and John playing the organ at Holy Trinity.”
• “And you, Len—you always walked on your tiptoes when you were little. Do you still do that?”
  (Yes, especially when I’m tired.)

I feel lucky to have grown up in a place small enough for friendships to stretch across years, not just school terms. These folks and I have shared teachers, playgrounds, awkward adolescence, and, over time, the sorrow of losing classmates. We’ve grown into people with different politics, faiths, and worldviews, but all that tends to fade when we look into each other’s faces and remember who we were long before we knew what party we’d vote for or which religion we’d claim as ours.

Here’s to those long-standing, deep-rooted friendships. When we strip away the layers that now separate us, we find our way back to Little League games, Blue Bird and Boy Scout troops, and Friday night football. That’s where we can still meet each other—as people first. I’ll choose that shared space every time.

So, here’s to what connects us: trust, kindness, decency, and love. Let’s hold tight to that and let the rest fall away.

Thank you, my fellow Bonhi classmates, for a truly wonderful reunion. I’ll look forward to seeing you in five years. Until then, let’s all do our best to stay healthy, stay safe, and keep loving the people around us. That’s how we make this life a little sweeter—not just for ourselves, but for everyone we meet along the way.