The Class of 1969: Fifty Years Later—The Way We Were

When my class of 1969 gathered around a table in the Mayfield library for our 50th reunion, instead of boasting about boyfriends (or bemoaning the lack thereof) like we did all those years ago, we now bragged about grandchildren. In the half-century since we dressed in white and carried roses at our leaving, we have lost parents, friends, and, a few of us, marriages. Some have been lucky in love that endures, albeit sometimes falls short of fairy tale and know that’s just the ebb and flow, the very nature of it. We compromise.
Our resumés include careers, raising children into adulthood, planning and funding their weddings, and then babysitting after they’ve given birth to their own. A few of us can add caregiving for ailing husbands to that list. We have wrinkles we don’t want and scars we can’t erase, and never quite know what to wear these days, yet whenever we are together, we only see the way we were—those fresh baby faces dressed in brown blazers and knee socks. We’ve been on this odyssey since the beginning (some of us the very beginning, as far back as Kindergarten at Little Mayfield), hence we are blind to crow’s feet and grey hair; it is only our beginning that we recognize, even as we age.

Now we are women who care for each other in a way we couldn’t back then. Gone is any self-absorption a teenager necessarily embodies, and in its place has grown an empathy that can only evolve over the passage of time and through inescapable experience. Today we unabashedly share joys and challenges, free of the self-consciousness and angst of youth. We pray for each other because we are still faithful, certainly, but also because we’ve grappled with lessons taught outside of the classroom and realize what we can and cannot control. We are not merely learned; we are wise. No longer standing on the threshold, we have achieved history. Each of us is a story.

Did we truly appreciate what we had at Mayfield, back when her front gates sheltered us from any storm? Could we fathom that when we would stand on the North Porch in the year 2019 it would feel like yesterday that we were queuing up to accept diplomas? Of course not. Few of us perceived the extraordinary in just another morning at school. Besides, in those days we were busy about the infinite future, never giving a thought to how rapidly that race might run. And we certainly never imagined we would want it all back again.

Who were those innocents who long ago rolled their skirts in front of the locker-room mirror and giggled to guess which nun it was walking down the hall behind them? They are the beating hearts of the enlightened women who reunited on a Saturday in April and felt like they’d come home. When the group of us walked up the front stairs together the reverberating echo remained that of our loafers against the wood, the music ringing in my ears those verses of “The Messiah” that we performed (outstandingly!) one resplendent Carol Night, our candlelit faces aglow with promise.
 
As we gathered to say our farewells just outside the gates whose arms opened as wide as a mother’s to her child, one of my lifelong friends spoke to our group, her eyes filled with both gratitude and longing. “I don’t want to leave.”

Amen.

Kathleen Clary Miller ’69
is the author of essays and stories that have appeared in publications across the country. She lives in Fallbrook, CA. 
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Established in 1931, Mayfield Senior School in Pasadena, CA is a Catholic, independent, college preparatory school for young women grades 9-12. Noted for its rigorous academic program, which includes 28 Advanced Placement and Honors courses, Mayfield’s curriculum is underscored by a philosophy of educating the “whole child,” which also encourages commitment to and excellence in the arts, athletics, community service and spiritual growth. The nurturing environment at Mayfield Senior School allows each student to flourish in an atmosphere of personal attention.