By Lorry Myers
Every year during class reunion time, I am a pretty busy girl. My father graduated high school in the same town that I did. So did my five brothers and sisters, my three children and my husband; we were all rooting for the same team!
I was the fourth child of six children; the fourth daughter with all the hand me downs. There is five years difference between my oldest sister and me, and then, my brothers came eighteen months and a few more years later.
We had a very full house.
I played ball with my brothers along with the other boys in the neighborhood. It didn’t bother me that I was the only girl because I was a competitor. In the summer we would divide up on teams and play ball, or step up to the plate for home run derby. I rode the sports bus with my younger brother and took my youngest brother most places he wanted to go. I knew these boys, and their friends, their girlfriends and what they did on Saturday nights. I sat on the bleachers cheering for their teams along with their parents and brothers and sisters.
Now, I crash their class reunions.
With three older sisters, there were always a mess of girls at our house. Friends or teammates, fellow cheerleaders or pep squad members. I watched them making posters or practicing their lines or trying to figure out what to wear. Since the only phone in our house was the wall phone, I sat and listened to the one-sided stories about high school drama. Who broke up, what happened after the game Friday night, and the best places to park with your boyfriend.
I knew it all.
For the complete column, see this week’s edition of the Centralia Fireside Guard.