Homecoming and Senior Moments

The din inside the function room on the second floor of the World Trade Center was thick with lounge music crooned by an unenthusiastic Diana Krall wannabe whose renditions were drowned by the colorful banter from inebriated merchant mariners. Occasionally these salty tars would momentarily pipe down as a matter of courtesy to some brave souls who would venture into the riser to address the alumni with what seems like valedictory speeches that no one would bother to hear. It seems these speakers were unaware of what usually transpires during these annual events when the suggested attire, being semi-formal, would set the demeanor. Apparently, they're just predisposed, as always, to discourse on some trivial matters only they would care to deliver on such rambunctious occasions.

Above the babel of ports of call, sundry of cargoes, gross tonnages, latest regs, and thingamagigs, some would crossover into maintenance medicines, wonder hair growers, urine therapy, the blue pill, and umbrella girls. At intervals, these buoyant exchanges on such profound subjects were disrupted by dance numbers presented by scantily clad chorus girls, whose sinuous undulations never fail to attract the undivided attention of the now rowdy masters mariners and chief engineers, all suddenly rushing toward the dance floor to get a better worm's eyeview. Surely, some things never change, and boys will always be boys, even in their graying years.

The best part of the evening was to meet old familiar faces last seen more than a score and ten years ago. The difficult part was to recall the names that would match the faces; a nagging reminder that senior moments have caught up with me, that no amount of mnemonics or mind mapping can deal with. But thanks to the ubiquitous calling cards that would materialize to save the day. I had to apologize that I didn't have any, which is to say, "I'm unemployed and currently not engaged in any economic activity."

The ribbing and camaraderie lasted well into Cinderella time, with some senior citizens still on the dance floor executing their salad days' boogie and cha-cha numbers that used to make them instant hits during their Ship Wreck Parties. Next year they'll be whirling again on the dance floor, maybe with more bones clicking, but who cares. Homecomings will almost always be the same, as it will most likely be next year. But I intend to be there, the Good Lord willing, and for as long as I can, with the fervent hope that it'll be, "all present, all accounted for" during that imagined formation on the quarter deck.

We attended that December 4 Homecoming and Fellowship Party for many reasons. I came just to relive the days when we could be ourselves again, jesting here, spinning yarns there, and dreaming of sailing into some exotic places. Ah, what we'd give away just to be young and to be in those dungarees once more.