Reunion

About a week ago, I went to a high school reunion. It was typical of those types of things. Liquor flowed, people told stories about one another they hope their children never hear. I saw people I'd seen in recent months and some I hadn't seen in more than three decades.

I don't consider high school a great time in my life. In a sea of 750 or so faces in my graduating class, I most often felt on the fringe. Some of that was simply being a teenager, some of it my attitude, some of it social class realities. But it's not something I hold in an idealized memory.

But time does even things out. I'm not sure caste systems and cliques ever completely disappear, but the boundaries fade greatly. You stop fearing speaking to the most beautiful girl in the class. Major jocks' physical appearance and athleticism fades. People improve their social skills and appearance.

And there's something to be said coming from the same basic time and place. Although some of those people preferred disco over country or could afford designer clothes over a single pair of torn jeans, there is some type of commonality. We talked about things we did that should mean we'd not lived to this point. And we joked we were lucky to "grow up in Mayberry."

We also recognized many of us grew up in a world that was laying the groundwork for too much substance abuse, where societal expectations often left us with absentee fathers who worked too much and parents who simply didn't know how to be emotionally honest.

But the ingredients of a safe environment and challenges under the surface were shared and created that group of people who'd survived and returned.

In addition, there were those who'd grown enough to express themselves in ways they hadn't then or in the interim. To say for their entire lives they'd held onto some little relationships that had been in that time and helped them throughout the rest of their lives. People recounted single conversations that had stayed all this time. They pointed out bonds they'd felt never frayed despite being stretched greatly by distances and time.

I saw and heard a lot of people in a lot of different ways express how important not only someone was to them, but is to them. Even if they hadn't spoken in 30 years.

I'm constantly surprised by our humanity. I think watching it and wanting to point it out is a major reason this blog exists. The human condition is so complex, unexpected and invigorating it should never be overlooked. We prove how complicated we are in the most basic simple ways. Little sentences like "thank you" or "you're important to me" are fuel for going on.

I'll raise a toast to the Class of '75. Not for the parties or the stories or the girlfriends. For the surviving humanity.

To remind myself

There's purpose for the great and the common.

". . . whether it's stories, poetry, music, whatever. None of it tells you anything new; it merely reminds you of something you already know but forgot you knew." Bill Witliff

Law and order at the Farmers' Market

It's the time of Texas bounty. The greens of watermelons, reds of tomatoes and golds of peaches are in abundance. So Rusty the Goofy Dog and I decided to take a Saturday morning trip to the local Farmers' Market.

Rusty loves to go, but he's still young enough that he hasn't gotten the complete hang of the leash yet. So I have to keep a close eye on the temperature and time of day to pick times when he can go. A Saturday morning during a rainy period where I'd spend at the most 15 minutes away seemed the perfect Rusty opportunity. I cranked down the windows halfway and headed off, with him barking a hearty "come back soon."

I returned to what had to be a riot. Police cars everywhere with lights emblazoned and even a siren honk a couple of times. Unfortunately, the center of the riot seemed my truck.

Now the Farmers' Market of proximity isn't in Austin, but a little burg surrounded by Austin. The Sunset Valley residents are a tight bunch, apparently feeling a bit squeezed by the Austin City Limits signs on all sides. They have two major shopping centers within their little limits, providing an abundance of tax receipts. That cash infusion allowed them to greatly beef up their police force. Now, it's not like the neighborhoods are crime ridden. But that plethora of patrol cars also lets Sunset Valley blanket some of the adjoining major thoroughfares. It's kind of an example of where the Old World phrase "police state" arose. But with a nice dose of capitalism throw in from citation receipts.

And now, something about my truck had galled that impressive force.

The officer informed me that although general law was that intervention was mandated if a dog or child was in a closed vehicle and in distress, the fine citizens of Sunset Valley had ordained to take it step farther. No dog could be left in a vehicle no matter what. And Rusty - head out the window, nose twitching in excitement and tongue at the roll ready to lick - was getting me a ticket.

She then kind of stood there. "You want my license?" I questioned. "Oh, yes sir," she said. I began to question who was in charge of this scene at the moment. Had a gotten the Valley's hire du jour?

Another car arrived. While Officer Confused ran my particulars, he came over to chat. "She make you roll down the windows?" Officer Two asked of his cohort. I told that's how they were when The Force descended on me. Officer Two shook his head and requested I take Rusty out. It's your clean uniform, I thought as I complied.

The so feared for Rusty bounded out and straight over to Officer Two, swishing tail flying. He did his goofy dance, all four feet into the air and headed twisted with an emphatic "Pet me! Pet me!" Yeah, it's a good thing the vigilant Sunset Valley force had been around to save Rusty from trauma.

Officer Two told me the emergency had been declared because a resident had called in a dog in distress locked in a car with the windows rolled up. Although he said nothing more, his demeanor and head angle made it clear he found this entire exercise a bit extreme. I'll admit, the law, but extreme.

Officer Confused came back with my clean record and offered me a warning to record our encounter. Obviously, I carry the air of a repeat offender. She wasn't too thrilled when I questioned why she needed my phone number, I'd identified myself and that was enough. I might have stood my rights grounds except all this standing in the parking lot waiting for the police to protect Rusty was getting him a bit heated. He would have been basking in air conditioning long ago if he didn't have to stand here waiting for saving. So I just gave away personal information and took my long pink punishment.

I'm glad there's a sentiment to protect the weaker of our world. It's too obvious there are those who think only of themselves and society might need to raise the stakes. But I also believe there's a line where people should mind their own damned business. There's a law to try and protect animals. The people of Sunset Valley don't need to step over the line and force their patrol cars to step needlessly in my business. There's not a crime wave at the Farmers' Market. There's not a threat to Rusty beyond whether he might bruise his nose making his ball squeak.

I'd like to let the complainant step forward and take a face full of Rusty slobber as evidence things are okay this side of the line.