When August and a reunion collide, look out
- Mike Dewey: Life Lines
- August 12, 2023
- 795
So what are we to make of August?
On one hand, it’s the apotheosis of summer, a time for relaxation, a week spent away from the job, a chance to revel in life’s pleasures.
On the other, it’s a reminder nothing comes without a price tag.
A quick bit of research — and an examination of my not-entirely-reliable memory — reminds us that for all its superficial attractiveness, August can be a most difficult stretch of days.
Cue one of my favorite passages from one of my favorite films:
“People dress different, feel different, sweat more, wake up cranky and they never recover. Everything’s just a little askew. Pretty soon, people think the old rules aren’t in effect. They start breaking them. Figure that no one’ll care ’cause it’s emergency time.”
If you correctly identified the movie as “Body Heat,” the noir thriller from 1981, give yourself a pat on the back, and if you knew the lines were spoken by Oscar Grace, the determined police detective, well, I tip my cap in your general direction. Well done.
Of course, “Body Heat” also is pretty well known for the line that goes, “Sometimes, the (stuff) comes down so heavy I feel like I should wear a hat,” one of William Hurt’s signature moments.
Ironically, despite its oppressive and seemingly authentic depiction of life (and death) in a hot, humid Florida town, “Body Heat” was actually filmed in January, just another reason why we love movies.
After all, who doesn’t like a temporary break from reality?
Which brings us back to August and gives me the chance to offer a crash course in just a few of the events that have marked the month.
In my years on the planet, August has provided the backdrop for the Democratic Convention in Chicago (1968), the Manson Murders (1969), Nixon’s resignation (1974), Elvis Presley’s death (1977) and the car crash that killed Princess Diana (1997). Before my time, Pompeii was destroyed when Mount Vesuvius erupted (79 AD), Anne Frank penned her final diary entry (1944) and the United States dropped two atomic bombs on Japan (1945).
Even when August does something right — consider Woodstock — surrounding circumstances seem to conspire to turn even the most peaceful and idyllic interlude into a battle for simple survival, as if to reinforce the notion nothing worth enjoying is an easy ride.
So naturally, when my high school class’ 50th reunion was scheduled, it was determined August was the perfect month.
I get it; I mean, the symbolic synchronicity is impossible to miss, even if it’s entirely unintentional. When people get to a certain age, it’s pretty much par for the course to look for clues in apparently random tosses of the dice because, well, maybe that’s only me.
Still, as I write this epistle, the odyssey has yet to begin, and had it not been for my wife’s persistent diligence, I would have delayed packing so much as a single pair of socks, let alone a complete set of what she calls “outfits” that I will wear to various functions.
It’s not as if I’m lazy, necessarily. It’s more that I’m better working on deadlines. Blame 30-plus years in the newspaper game.
Essentially, all I’ve got to do before we head out in the morning is gather up my electronics, stock a couple of coolers, try on my new all-white sneakers and give the houseplants a goodbye watering.
Oh, and I’m thinking of shaving off my beard.
It’s not vanity because there’s no way of hiding what the intervening 50 years have accomplished since I left high school. With or without facial hair, the harsh evidence of aging speaks for itself.
That reminds me of what happened a few nights ago when I stopped at a convenience store to pick up a few supplies. The girl behind the counter — a high school student herself — asked me for my ID, a request I found simultaneously ludicrous and flattering.
“Seriously?” I asked, flashing my most winning smile. “Really?”
“New corporate policy,” she said, pointing to a sign that spelled out precisely what adult items fell under the umbrella of caution.
Disabused of the notion I somehow still looked like a teenager, I walked back to the car and retrieved my driver’s license, which I dutifully presented before heading into the heavy summer heat.
That, I thought to myself, is August in a near-perfect encapsulation.
Don’t think that just because it’s still 90 at night that the laws are no longer in effect. Don’t be fooled by accepting compliments when none are intended. Be wary of things that seem too good to be true. Stand guard against making mistakes you’ll soon regret.
These are among my marching orders as I head back home for a gathering of the tribe, a journey fraught with danger, something I haven’t dared try since last we assembled en masse back in 2018.
Five years is a long time not to have walked the streets of my hometown, a comparative eternity, but I’m just confident enough to trust my instincts and hope for the best kind of new memories.
And I won’t have to worry about getting back-to-school outfits.
Mike Dewey can be reached at Carolinamiked@aol.com or 6211 Cardinal Drive, New Bern, NC 28560. He invites you to join the fun on his Facebook page, where even August is always welcome.