Those Encounters When Time Melts

Today, early, sitting in the coffee shop, reading, I heard a knocking at the window beside me and saw a former 8th grade student of mine (from the 1985-86 school year) jogging by in the dark of the pre-dawn. He's in his late forties now, but when I saw him, my mind ignored the present and carried me back to those middle-school years when he was in my English class, when he acted in a number of shows I directed.

I said "acted"; I should have said "starred." He was one of the most riveting kids I ever saw on the stage--he took command when he was up there, and this, I know, could be hard for some of you to imagine: a 7th and 8th grader reigning on the stage?!!?

But reign he did. I was pretty sure he was going to have an acting career, but he went another direction. Law enforcement. And from what I can tell, he has done a great job--no surprise to me.

I confess that I have this feeling often when I meet former students (some of whom are now in their mid-sixties--are grandparents). Of course, I see them now--but my memory sees them in other settings, as well: in the class, on the stage, out on the playground, in the lunch room. There are even times when I see my own son that way (I also taught him in 8th grade in 1985-86). I see him with his friends, on his bike preparing for a Bike Club jaunt, in the band with his saxophone, and, of course, up on the stage where he, too, was such a strong actor and singer. (He ended up with a rich baritone that far surpassed my own.)

And this past weekend, I had a special jolt (as I wrote here yesterday) when I spent about an hour and a half with a half-dozen or so students whom I'd taught in 1984-85, whom I'd directed in productions both at the middle and high school. They are, of course, now in their late 40s, but when I sat there, laughing with them, looking at them, listening to them, I couldn't help but see and hear them, as well, back at dear old Harmon Middle School (a truly great school, if I may say so!), romping through the halls, doing oral book reports, performing on the stage, laboring backstage.

Time melts, as I said.

And what makes it melt even more quickly: All those former students whom I've mentioned here are older now than I was when I taught them.

In The Great Gatsby narrator Nick Carraway knew all about this and closed his tale with those famous words that have been on my mind so much lately:

So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.