I had the unfortunate choice to attend a graveside service and a celebration of life afterwards for one of my high school friends' fathers last month.  She and I were not tight in school but have known each other since first grade and she was one of a tiny handful of people in high school of the upper crust who was always nice to me. 

Most high schools have cliques, rich, poorer, and it will continue on.  We forget some experiences, others stay with us.  As we gathered after the service to honor an upstanding man in our community, a few of my high school alumni were present.  I counted eight in all.  I knew them because we were all in advanced study groups, not because I had ever fit in socially.

I hated high school.  I stuck with one very small group of friends, was too shy to try out for athletics, and so I missed out on the one thing I loved.  Our dads were blue collar workers.  We played tennis at city courts, not on our own mansion grounds.  We were never ashamed of our lot in life, we went on about our business.  We belonged to a Presbyterian church youth group and for the most part were good kids.

The celebration of life we all attendedI in November was very close to a Protestant wake.  There was an open bar, something I'd never seen at a Protestant funeral in Virginia.  Since I quit drinking November 8, 1994, I chose Coca-Cola and later coffee.

If one thinks back to his high school class, there was always one who never quit asking questions, who never really seemed to get it.  I turned around and walking up in a stylish wool overcoat and matching fedora was that guy from my classes.  Now a well-known doctor in town, he carried a diet Dr. Pepper, sipping it as he approached.  That was my first hint that all was not normal.  Why bring any  kind of drink to a reception honoring one who died?

Immediately in my head, I said, "Oh snap, I know this familiar story!"  I watched him as half hour increments ticked by.  Still he stayed at the bar, now openly drinking.  As I mingled with other alumni, I decided to approach him.

What proceeded was an interaction that on any other turf, I would have told him what I thought.  But the venue was not about me or him.  He was so abrupt, rude and denying he knew me, I was incredulous.  "Who are ya?  Who's that?" he asked me when I told him my name.  In the middle of his stupor, I did an about face and walked away from him. 

His wife has always been and was much kinder that day.  I explained her husband seems to have trouble with memory.  "He's had...some health problems," she explained.  "I can see that, "  I answered.

Her father was present and he actually hired me in the 1970's at Allied Chemical, Corp. as a summer worker as I attended college.  He knew my father and as I talked to him at the reception, he recalled how my father had asked to see him one day, as the gentleman was director of personnel.

This man who gave me my first serious job remembered my interview.  "You were very mannerly and that's why you got the job," he told me.  I explained my father had called me at Va. Tech and told me he had set up an interview and I was to show my very best behavior.

I walked away from this experience and could not help but think that good impressions stick with some people also.  The gentleman with the drunken doctor son-in-law remembers pleasant interviews from over 30 years ago.

It was good seeing people whom I knew in this setting, now that I have all the self confidence I need to interact with them.  For once, I did not feel I had to prove a thing to them.  And the drunken doctor was still asking dumb questions.  As I drove away I smiled, knowing money cannot buy happiness.