Saying good-bye to yesterday

Well, what's there to say?

Ten years. My God, 10 years.

It seems hard to believe now, as if all that was part of somebody else's life. But when the old gang gathered together at The Foundry last Friday night, it felt good, familiar, like something long missing had finally come home.

I hadn't wanted to go at first, to be honest. Just felt like too much time had passed, and I don't know, trying to fall victim to being anti-social.

But I'm glad I went. Seeing old faces, those you shared happy moments with, those you wished you had.

It's funny. Sometime before the evening was over, I happened upon a beautiful pair of eyes I hadn't looked at, or thought about, in a long time.

But gazing into them ever so briefly, I was 13 years younger again. I was that skinny awkward kid I thought I'd left behind for good. The feelings, ones I'm certain she never knew, were ever so tangible.

It was fantastic and it was awful, a literal time machine taking you back to somewhere you weren't ready to be.

Then, near the end, dear Andrea Hayes and Jenny Mynatt Choate pulled me up to the front. "You gotta sing," they said.

Could I do it? After a decade, would it be OK?

Well, I made it through "Hound Dog." It felt good to sing that old, silly rock-and-roll in front of people I'd forgotten how much I loved.

Several of my classmates are owed big thanks for working hard to pull Friday night's reunion off. To them, I tip my Braves cap, hoist a drink, and say gracias.

For those of you who might happen to read this, it was great to see you --- all of you.

And, in a funny way, that old song is true.

"It's so hard to say good-bye to yesterday."