I realize that at some point or another, life has thrown stuff at ALL of us. In fact we wouldn’t be reuniting, if something hadn’t been thrown at us early in our lives. Yet for three days, in a suburb of Omaha it all goes away.
The “we” I am referring to, are the men and women who are alumni of Boys Town. These are the people who continue to share at least one thing in common. Whether they came from an abusive background, were orphaned or had brushes with the legal system at an early age, these are the people, who even after years of physical distance, I feel just as connected to today. For good or bad no one escapes the passage of time or miles, however one thing remains constant, our affiliation with the home. Our reunions are more than just a ritual to relive the glory days. They aren’t about appearance or status. Our gatherings are about family.
My separation from this family came on June 4th, 1972. THAT is the day, I graduated from Boys Town. We shared dorms, classes, jobs, sports and meals. These are the folks I boarded weekend pass buses with. We baled hay alongside each other on the Dairy Farm. We hand polished brass window cranks and linoleum floors sharing in “Saturday Charges”. We battled each other in intramural sports, yet stood united against all outside rivals. We exuded pride in our renowned Choir and shared the benefits of their reputation. And we all graduated from the place known as “The City Of Little Men”.
Though the majority have moved miles away, these will always be, “my people”. . This is my home team. I won’t know until the end, what generations were represented at this years reunion but I’m confident that many who went before my class, and the thousands of kids that followed, were well represented over the course of our get-together. I still prefer to call it, “The Worlds Largest Family Reunion”. I hope to get more of these feelings to paper in the next few days, but in the meantime, I want to extened a hearty, “Welcome Home!” to everyone who is here in body, in spirit and our memories.