Time

My fingers hurt! Then, what do you expect after hanging on to this big blue marble for dear life as it hurdled at 67,000 miles per hour for now sixty trips around the sun?
I can remember how slowly time moved as I headed toward my 16th birthday, my excitement level in the stratosphere. I just couldn’t wait to get behind the wheel of my own car. That first rolling jewel was a 1962 Rambler Classic. My dad paid $300 for the automotive marvel, and I guarantee that if he knew that the front seat reclined all the way, he would have never bought it. More than one of you ladies knows of what I speak, but never worry, a proper Southern gentleman never tells. There is, after all, no statute of limitations on honor.
By the time we graduated, the speed of time had increased. By the ‘80s, it seemed to take barely eight months to lap that star at the center of our solar system. Today, don’t blink or you’ll miss the next trip completely.
By the time I had dried from the swim to Coon Island on Senior Skip Day and the subsequent Pomp and Circumstance had ceased ringing in my ear, the Class of 1970, and for that matter, my classmates, occupied little of my mental bandwidth. I had places to go, worlds to conquer, things to try—oh so many things to try. And did I ever try them. Yes, sir, I gobbled life in huge bites, barely stopping to breathe. As for smelling the roses—as they like to say in New Jersey, forget about it.
I did come back for our 10th reunion and then for the 20th and 25th. But Ft. Pierce, Florida, and the Class of 1970 were distant specks in my rearview mirror. Then, there was the 40th reunion just two short years ago.
At first, it was difficult for me to get my arms around a 40th reunion. The way I remembered it, only geezers had 40th reunions. After all, I was not old; I was still that wide-eyed, anything-is-possible kid who just had to be the first to ring the bell in the elementary school bell tower (if you can call two stories a tower) only minutes after graduation.
Then, one morning, as I went to my bathroom mirror to shave, the shock of all shocks—there was an old dude complete with chubby cheeks and distinguished-looking gray hair. It frightened me so much I stopped shaving.
I was unsure I wanted to go to the 40th reunion. After all, someone might notice that long gone was my 30-inch waistline, replaced with two. I was sure I was the only one who had aged. In my memory, you were the same kids who had just made it through the love-the-one-you’re-with 1960s and headed off to join Disco Duck, the Bee Gees, and John Travolta in the 1970s. None of you got old, and all were still wearing your baggies, desert boots, and fading madras shirts complete with fairy loops.
Then, I saw the Class of 1969’s website. I was floored. Those dudes looked as if they were ready for the nursing home. I had to take another trip to the bathroom mirror. Wow! The bearded dude did not look that bad after all. Maybe I would go to the 40th—if for no other reason, for someone to notice that I have fared much better than those old guys from 1969 have.
Boy, I’m glad I made that decision. I enjoyed that reunion more than anything I’ve done in years. There was a spirit in the room that is difficult to put into words. There were no hype, no airs, and no pretenses, as if we had accepted what we were and what we would be. We had finally become us.
After the reunion, I promised myself that I would call a classmate each month and just say hello. Maybe we would have lunch. Another decision I am glad I made. That decision has brought me more joy, entertainment, and laughs than I can put in words. I have renewed old friendships and forged more than one new one.
Then, the website came. I’ll never know what possessed me to build our website. I am not a techie, but, from the first keystroke, it became a labor of love. I have had a blast. You might have noticed; I like to write. The site has given me an opportunity to share much of what I have in my heart that is sometimes hard for me to put in the spoken word.
To see the way so many have opened and shared has been so gratifying. When someone e-mails me or calls to say he or she enjoyed one of my Student Spotlights or Ramblings, it makes me feel great. In years past, I was fortunate to have two nonfamily members wish me a happy birthday. This year, I had more than thirty classmates share their hopes that I would have a happy 60th birthday. Cool, huh? With every additional birthday wish, it became a self-fulfilling prophecy; all those wishes cause me to have a happy birthday. With more than thirty people concerned about my birthday happiness, it gives me renewed optimism that I can still put together six pallbearers when needed.
From the beginning, I had only four self-imposed rules for the website: (1) make it fun; (2) give people a reason to come back regularly; (3) foster communication among classmates; and 4) stay clear of controversy, politics, and spin.  I think we have achieved all four.
Most people have told me they really enjoy the site, and judging from the more than 180 who have joined, it seems the fun part has been achieved. As the webmaster, I can see who comes to the site and when. When a classmate logs on, I can hear a soft dinging sound. I get such a kick out of posting a Spotlight or Rambling and then leaning back in my chair to watch the covey of Eagles land. Soon, there is a ding, then a ding ding, followed by a ding, ding, ding, ding. What a hoot! I think we have (2) slammed; the articles have given us a reason to return regularly.
If you were wondering about (3), communication among class members, I have two numbers for you: 13,338 and 4,264. The first is the number of visits to the site by a class member in the first fifteen months, and the second, 4,264, is the number of e-mails sent from one classmate to another through the website in the same period, which does not account for the e-mails we have all sent outside the website or by Facebook.
As for (4), Bill O’Reilly is not the only one who has created a “no spin zone.” When I saw the Class of ‘69 (you know, the big kids) throwing a 60th birthday party, I thought it was, well, groovy. (Now, that word dates me just a bit.) So, I thought, why not? Let’s have our own 60th birthday party. If I remember correctly, many of you were ready to party at the drop of a hat for most of your McCarty years, so what the heck.
Some initially asked whether we were throwing a 60^th birthday party or a reunion. You pick. By default, anytime we get together is a reunion. So, we could call our upcoming party our 60^th Birthday/42^nd Reunion/what-the-heck-let’s-boogie/get-together/shindig/hootenanny. Whatever floats your boat!
One thing is for sure; the website has helped bring us together. Democrats, Republicans and Independents; Christians and Jews; men and women; white- and blue-collar; blacks and whites—we are all loosely tied with a 40-year-old thread woven into the tapestry of each of our lives. It’s a thread that can be stretched and is sometimes frayed, but it will never be broken. Because, you see, my friend, you will always be a member of this class. You will always be an Eagle.
For all these reasons, I decided to write this book. After all, I am a writer; it is what I do. I began thinking how many times I have looked at my yearbook over the past forty-two years and thought this would be the perfect companion for your Santa Lucian.
 I have been writing the book whenever I interviewed a classmate for a monthly Spotlight or felt the rumblings of a Rambling coming on. So, why not bring all them together and give you one more decision to make when weeding out your treasures for your next garage sale.
So, here is my gift to you, the Dan McCarty High School Fighting Eagle Class of 1970. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Are You an Eagle? Yes, I’m an Eagle, and I’ll Be an Eagle Till’ the Day that I Die…

Keepin’ the Spirit Alive,

Richard (Dick) Parker