Lessons in, of life take years to learn

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A significant event came my way this week.

No, it wasn’t the lottery or last house payment or even a note from old girlfriend Katherine (Kitty) Litter saying she finally realized she missed the boat all those years ago.

Instead, it was the annual celebration of some of my mama’s finest work, notably the day she brought me into the world.

I won’t mention the year this event came about or how many years it’s been but simply say it was before Ike came into the White House. But I’ll go on record, however, as saying I can’t believe how quickly it got here.

It’s been a while coming and there has been a fair amount of water over the dam and under the bridge. But I’m also glad the water continues flowing and I hope it will for some time. Looking back over those years, it doesn’t seem so long ago. People, places and events come to mind, and I wonder where they all are now.

Our little family came to Pittsboro when I was a wee, handsome — well, at least wee — little lad of five. My dad had changed careers and Chatham County was home to him and Mama anyway. Had that not happened, I would have grown up in Apex and never gotten acquainted with Bonlee or Harpers Crossroads or Rufus’ Restaurant and hundreds of wonderful folks.

My school days would have been spent in Wake County instead of the halls of Pittsboro High School, where I managed to get thrown out of school assembly my senior year when I was student body president and fouled out of a junior varsity basketball game during the warmups when I was in the 9th grade.

I think back on those growing-up days, remembering who dated who, who had what car, the words to every rock and roll song WKIX played, and many other important pieces of information. However, I could not then — and still cannot now — tell you the words to the French national anthem, how many bones a frog has in its body or how to find the square root of 147, all of which various teachers deemed essential at the time.

Instead, I think of the 20 or so classmates who are now precious memories. Ditto for the class ahead of and behind me.

The same thing happened with my college career, the one where I managed to cram a four-year course of study into seven years. I knew I was going to Chapel Hill to get an education; I just didn’t think it would all be on campus. And it wasn’t.

These days I remember the guys in my dorm — Chester “Chuck” Conner, who combined brains, books and looks into one great all-around guy; Sam “Froggy” Greathouse, who got us into trouble with the dean because we hung out the second-story windows making pig-grunt noises at the female students as they walked by and is now one of those aforementioned memories; Ronald and Donald Green, the twins from Carthage who I never could tell apart and still couldn’t a few years ago when I bumped into them at a funeral service I conducted for a family member of a mutual friend, and numerous others whose faces come to mind but don’t bring names with them.

There are other highlights, many, in fact: A career in community journalism which led me to meet my better — much better — half when we worked beside each other in adjoining buildings in Pittsboro one summer; the wonderful days of courtship when I stopped running so she could catch me; the years since then with our two 40-somethings who at one time were teenagers who lived at my house and who now have produced their own set of humans, some of whom are teenagers and others who will soon be and who live at their houses, but for right now are without doubt the most wonderful grandchildren the world has ever seen.

And there are others — a job once that let me work with farmers and rural folks all over the two Carolinas, a seminary course of study that produced a change in careers and the subsequent places of service, and even an opportunity to combine journalism and ministry as a life’s work for several years.

At one time, I thought I’d retire. Now I know there’s not enough time to do that.

And maybe that’s the best lesson that has come from these yearly celebrations. I know I’m not the only person who has such momentous occasions.

My hope through the years of turning out these columns is that maybe once in a while (if you’re brave enough to read them) we all share the human condition known as life and that birthdays are another opportunity to get on with living it.

Hope yours is happy and prosperous … whenever it is and however many there are.