A May 2/3 Remembrance

To a list of insiders, outliers, rebels, entrepreneurs, lawyers, farmers, engineers, dreamers, academics, impresarios, doctors, survivors, thinkers, moms, pops, grandmas, grandpas, wanderers, dancers, debutantes, gardeners, athletes, politicians, entertainers, linguists, historians, and especially the brave, the humble, and sadly, those departed, from the North Toronto class of '68 and those close in time, let's add a new category – choreographer.

Laurie Pascoe has set a high bar for cheerleading, herding cats, and light footed appearances everywhere. Those of us who contributed in some small way to this merry challenge to the gods of time and energy (didn't we study them in a 9th grade Four Ages of Man class?) bow respectfully for the dazzling performance of the indomitable LP and his thought that not only would we share our stories to date, but that many of us would meet in marvelous supplication to an idea. You did it man! – If that's not too "sixties speak".

For the organizers of Friday's gathering at North Toronto CI in a building no longer familiar, there are still just enough small touches of what was once there to spark a poignant laugh or tear, as well as teachers who could have been mistaken for our classmates (do they age better than students?).

For those of us who threw open our homes, we did so knowing the damage once potentially wreaked by 18 year olds was long past the delivery date of this crowd.

For a wondrous walking tour through the old berg and a chance for storytellers to shine and for another to show us the rock on which she sat as a young person just to think and dream.

For everything in short that made the weekend's events something to be relished and maybe, just maybe, a foundation to mount further indulgences of sweet memory and laughter.

Well done all.

Laurie has asked for more of our experiences. Bill Schabas has promised to keep the blog alive. Carolyn Born Kennedy had enough leftover pizza for many future gatherings. So if you haven't sent a bio, but even for those who wish to update theirs, get clicking. Some have more to say – no names here, you know who you are! Some have given their all and can take a rest – once again you know who you are!

And for those who missed the weekend perhaps because of distance, other commitments, or you're still shy (after all these years?) make sure you're prepared for the next one of these because I can tell you now you will be delighted, overwhelmed, and amazed in large, small and pleasing ways by the lives of your compatriots from times long ago and now shaped at least somewhat by a kind of wisdom, humour, and, occasionally, an unexpected insight.

One disappointment however. Our rousing cheerleaders (you know who you are) on Friday night did a spirited rendition of the old school song. But where were the pyramids, the cartwheels and especially the splits? Ah well perhaps age does claim some talents and bravery, and the sight of EMS personnel carting off those whose imagination exceeded their ability to deliver would have put a real damper on the evening. So you're excused, and so are those who couldn't make it, and those yet to submit their stories – but be forewarned you won't want to miss a second opportunity. Everything, but the splits, is promised.

- Bill Humber