Thirty years ago I graduated from high school. I recently went to my class reunion where conversation flowed easily from present to past and back again. One of my classmates said to me, “If we only knew then what we know now . . .” The rest of the thought is left unexpressed. It has to be; the topic is so wide and deep and delightfully fraught with “what-ifs” that no words are necessary. It’s an intensely personal fantasy to play with. I love the statement and all that it implies and signifies.
Life comes at us in chunks, or phases, and can be grouped (at least later in one’s lifetime) into distinct eras. I’m speaking, of course, in terms of broad strokes. For example, I tend to view my life in these phases: childhood in Metuchen, New Jersey; childhood in Shamokin, Pennsylvania; high school years; Army years; college years; and domestic years married with two sons. Point to any one of these eras and I guarantee that a vivid memory or emotion will spill from the vats of my subconscious. (That conjures up a messy image, doesn’t it?)
Of my childhood in Metuchen, I see the Victorian house we lived in, its the second floor converted as an apartment; the old man who lived behind the gas station with his collection of seemingly gigantic turtles; and acting in my first play in the second grade, the same year I won a drawing contest in school.
Of the childhood years that followed in Shamokin, I remember sandlot baseball using large rocks as bases; the fourth grade teacher just about to retire who still wielded a wooden paddle for discipline; fear and isolation as my grandmother Alzheimer’s progressed before my very eyes, and, for the first time, Life’s fabric showing signs of fraying.
High school years must rank among the absolutely strangest years of a person’s life. The highs are frenetically high and the lows are the stuff of operas. “What is life?” asked Mr. Neary on the first day of tenth grade biology class. An excellent question that had less to do with biology for me as it did philosophy. Battling raging hormones, fears of inadequacy, and a yearning to belong, I somehow still remember having a lot of fun! It was fun becoming who I became, or at least a rudimentary version still in beta testing.
The Army years are perhaps the most conflicted era for me to visit. I tend to dip my toe into its tide pool carefully. No, I was never in combat; I served during peacetime with the exception of the Cold War, which was very real and deadly serious in ways most people today can’t imagine or as vividly remember. No, for me it was learning the cost of decisions made and the price of betrayal. Also realizing how easy it could be to wear the villain’s black hat all the while justifying my actions as, if not noble, then at least acceptable. In short, I learned the dark side of myself. Conversely, the best friends in my lifetime come from this maelstrom.
College years immediately followed the Army era. At Penn State I studied theater and lived in an off-campus apartment with some of my Army buddies also going to school there. These years recall drinking parties, youthful and seemingly carefree men and women, and moments of joy and accomplishment. I had managed to correct some of the tail spinning qualities I was cultivating years before and leveled out my flight path.
Finally, there is the era of my life today: as a husband and a father; of my work as an actor on television and film; a published writer; a film and stage director; and a nationally published cartoonist; adventures marked by a hundred crests and troughs. In fact this present twenty-year era could no doubt be sliced into smaller slivers if I was still not so close to it. In fact, I believe now that my sons are grown and moved away from home, I am about to enter a new phase of my life. I look forward to naming it after it passes.
Walt Neary, my biology teacher, recently passed away. I remember running into him some years after high school, in fact, during my Army years. We chatted and then I said, “By the way, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you. What is life? I think I was absent the day you answered that.” He broke into a wide grin, chuckled from back in his throat and replied, “Damned if I know.”
What a singular journey our own lives are! Celebrate yours. I have learned to finally celebrate mine, the good, the bad and even the ugly. They all have made me who I am today. I am no longer in beta test. For better or worse, I am the completed product. Well, nearly completed, always more fine-tuning to do, wouldn’t you agree?
So when I think of my life in terms of “If I only knew then what I know now,” I find myself instead hoping “If I can only remember tomorrow all that I’ve learned as of today”!
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