Even just picking up the phone and cold-calling an old friend is great. No reason, just a chat. What each is up to. How the families are. Maybe plan a get-together.
These phone calls can become marathons of laughter, memories and even tears.
I am writing this on the 53rd anniversary of my graduation. I was lucky to meet a bunch of guys in January 1970 and for the next 19 months we lived together, studied together, played sport together, socialised around town together.
We had a ball but we also worked very hard in our chosen field of study.
Sadly a few did not make our graduation. It was that kind of life. Academic failure meant being asked to reconsider one’s career plans. However those few are still friends, still part of us all.
Our lives revolved around class and study in our own time. Well we never had our own time to start with. The first three months we were not allowed away overnight for more than two weekend nights. Academic standards were high and we were all aware what the outcome was if we coasted.
We were lucky; we were paid a small amount as well. My first year’s salary, if you could call it that, was $1105.
A bit over $20 per week. I paid board out of that. I had, before beginning my study, worked as a factory hand earning twice that amount of money as a 17-year-old schoolboy during my last Christmas holidays.
Most of us survived using our hard-earned savings from previous years of after-school and school holiday jobs. The food was terrible and some of us missed our mums.
The guys in my class were all of the same age and came from all over New Zealand, from the poshest private schools to the smallest country high schools. We had several things in common.
We were almost all Pākehā. We all had our school exams. We all played sport, mostly rugby but football and league as well. We were all above average for the time in height and very fit.
From today’s perspective, we fulfilled a certain demographic group, something we would probably not see nowadays.
Fifty-three years ago today we started out on our careers. Some stayed a short while, others for their whole working lives. Whatever we did, wherever we ended up living, we all still stayed in touch. Many of us actually worked together over the years anyway.
Friendships that will last our lifetimes were made and are still nurtured.
We meet every five years of so for a formal reunion somewhere in New Zealand. A different place each time. Our wives and partners, even children, also gather. Some of the guys, over the years, introduced new wives and partners. Just life.
We will all meet again in January 2025 but in Brisbane this time as about 20 of our number are now Australians and have spent years flying home to reunions. It is only fair we have one across the Ditch.
Mind you the guys in Western Australia still have a very long flight ahead of them.
It is quite wonderful meeting up as older men now. Men who have lived very full lives, some of whom carry the scars. Time is catching up on some of us. We now spend more time talking about our health than talking about our times as young guys.
Even some of our teachers will be there. Men, yes all men, in their 80s and 90s. Still held by us all in huge respect, even awe. They were like parents to us when we were boys.
These reunions have emotional bits. About a dozen are no longer with us, dear friends departed forever. We remember them especially.
Some say friendships come and go. I suppose there is some truth in that. Having a friendship does require some input, some work to keep it going, especially if that friendship is not based on shared experiences over a longer length of time.
Try to keep your true friends, they know you and get you. You never have to explain yourself to them.
