I hardly ever get invited to parties, but every fall I get an evite to a "reunion" of sorts, a gathering of people who were campers/counselors at my beloved summer camp in the '70s and '80s (me? 1973–1982). The amazing thing about this annual party—in addition to the fact that my friend Natan offers to host it every single year—is that there might be anywhere from 15 to 50 people there, and it doesn't really matter who shows up. There's a large group of people I've known for these nearly-40 years, and I feel a bond with all of them that I can't describe. I went this past Saturday night, and I felt lame telling someone recently that it "feels like coming home," but that's the closest I can come to explaining it.
We spend a lot of time at these parties reminiscing about camp, of course—someone always brings a pile of photos and yearbooks for us to pore over and laugh about—but we also catch up on one another's current lives. Where are your kids at school? How are your parents? Whatever became of ...? We share a past, but we also care about one another's present.
Without fail, I come home (usually fairly late) and lie in bed unable to sleep. I'm buzzing with the excitement I always get from connecting with this group. I simultaneously feel very young and very old, and that brings me to tears—but they're mostly the good kind.
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