It all started with a post on FB. A friend put up two pictures of her and her two sisters. Actually, I consider the sisters friends as well, even though we were not always as gracious to them growing up as we might have been. Becky has on a plaid bucket hat in one, and a beautiful yellow dress in the other. I do not remember the hat, but it did spark a memory of her wearing a round Styrofoam cooler on her head one day. I truly can see the sequence of events that occurred while she was wearing said cooler as though they happened yesterday. The yellow dress I remember as well. She wore it to the Litton High School senior play in 1962 when my brother, Charlie, was in the cast. He played either a police officer or a gangster, I cannot remember which. We dressed in our finest to go to the play. My dress was yellow too. Becky was tiny and delicate (still is) and her dress was the perfect reflection of her. I felt somewhat like a bull moose next to her. I just remember, so well, admiring her dress, and possibly, wishing mine was as dainty.
I had breakfast today with Nancy. To get to the restaurant, we drove down Gallatin Road from Briley Parkway to where Gallatin Road turns into Main Street. This is definitely our old stomping grounds. We ate in a converted automobile showroom across the street from the school that graduated my mother and the public library. It was on the steps of that library that I learned, after putting on my first pair of eyeglasses, that steps are more easily navigated when one can see. I also discovered that trees have individual leaves and are not topped merely with a mass of green.
As we drove down the street, we passed many things...the church that Nancy attended growing up, the YMCA where I spent entire summers, the Inglewood Theater where I was forbidden to go on Friday nights, the site of the car wreck I had in college, Inglewood Hardware, the shop where my mother bought my first pair of tennis shoes ~ red PF Flyers ~ the funeral home that has been visited too many times, the site of the Hi Ho restaurant where many a Sunday lunch was eaten by my family, the old Krystal location where on my first day with a driver's license I backed into the dumpster (known as the dempstey dumpster in my family), Miller's Clinic where after stepping on 3 rusty nails I received the most painful tetanus shot of my life. The memories flashed across my mind as we drove down the street. I imagine Nancy's mind was on a similar flight of fancy, but we never missed a beat in our conversation.
After a lovely breakfast, sitting at a tiny marble- topped table in the window, we headed back up Gallatin Road to the Litton gym. There was to be an informal gathering of alumni, accompanied by a sale of Litton Memorabilia. I was not sure what to expect, but I enjoy time spent with Nancy, and she and I both have definitely been "out of the loop" of the alumni. So much has been changed in the space beneath the gym, that memories of that space are very vague. Well, obviously they are, for as I was leaving the ladies' room which was the old locker room, I walked right into the shower in my effort to find the door. Some things just never change.
We looked at the composite pictures of seniors from various years. 1970, the year Nancy and I graduated. It is sort of funny, how one looks for pictures of oneself and those we know and love best. Then we moved on to the 1966 composite where we found my sister-in-law, Vickie and my brother, Mike. 1965 to find Harry, Nancy's brother. 1962, to find Charlie and Nancy's sister, Judy. We all looked so young in those pictures. We were young. Both Nancy's siblings were at the gym. I love them both, and find that Judy and I are probably more alike in personality (introverts) than Nancy and Judy, although, two sisters could not look more alike. People are often getting them confused.
Someone introduced me to Barbara Jean Ellis. Oh, the memories. Charlie was a friend to that family, and often I had the privilege of going with him to their big old rambling house full of children. She was thrilled to know that I was Charlie's sister. I remember once my daddy being a bit frustrated with Charlie for taking my prescription ear infection medicine to one of the Ellis children. Always a champion of the vulnerable, my brother was. I thought how he probably would have been there today, had this day been nine years ago. She asked about Mom and Sam. She said she could not wait to tell her sister that she had seen Charlie's sister.
A man walked in, and I heard Nancy and Judy both say, "there is Tommy Green." He was a good friend of Charlie's, and when Nancy told him I was Charlie's sister, his eyes welled with tears, and he commented on what a fine man my brother was. I have vague memories of him, but I remember his mother well. She worked at the Chester's in Green Hills in the children's department. To get to the children's clothes, one walked down a sweeping staircase, and at the bottom of the stairs was a Myna bird. That bird talked a blue streak. Mrs. Green would always wait on us, with great patience. I remember her saying one time, when Mom was shopping with my sister, Doree, "Doree is not like Marilyn." This simply meant that Doree had opinions and preferences about what she wore, and I simply wanted some decision to be made by whomever so I could get out of there!
Others asked about my brother, Mike. They had heard that he is not well. He is very much loved by those who remember him. I suspect there are some great memories of rowdy times spent in his presence. Sincere offers to pray for him and our family were gratefully accepted.
I bought a T-shirt that says "Litton High School Alumni." Some people might find it ridiculous, this devotion so many have to Isaac Litton High School. There is an overwhelming sense of nostalgia, and, yes, urgency for many because it will not be too many years before there are no graduates of Isaac Litton living. 1971 was the last class graduated. A great need to leave a legacy of this great school, known for its band, outstanding football teams, prominent citizens and more, is keenly felt.
What is it about those three years we spent in that old building making friends, learning about life and literature and math and history (well, not so much history if you had Mrs. Johnson), and science and Spanish and French and Latin (really smart kids), and health and psychology and art and office machines and so many other wonderful things? I do not know why of my 63 years, those 3 seem so important and so well-remembered, but I am grateful.
Joyfully and painfully, and, yes, somewhat sadly, I have done a bit of meandering down Memory Lane today. It is a good thing to remember.
For today, I wish you exquisite memories and I wish you
blessings
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