Days of Glory Columns | gettysburgtimes.com

My one friend I see quite often because we live only eight miles apart and we were best friends from high school.

Well, technically we didn’t love each other in eighth grade. She liked the same boy as me. (She says I liked the same boy she liked). This is NOT a good way to start a friendship. But over time, we abandoned the boy and maintained a friendship.

Nowadays we still have problems with boys, but she has to do with upbringing in kindergarten, and I have surviving teenagers.

I didn’t see another friend after our twentieth grade meeting a couple of years ago. At school he was my best friend.

Note: every girl needs a better guy.

I know he nodded his head for a long time and thought about my mental state, but he was always there, no matter the crisis.

He now deals with teenage women in his home.

Life is ironic, isn’t it?

At school, the three of us could usually be met together, either in class or over lunch, but we had the best time – and the best memories left – in the orchestra.

Back then, we bastards were pretty much a force to be reckoned with. Or at least WE thought so…

Performance, cheering and tug-of-war during football games, kicking at band competitions and of course the infamous bus bands. Ahh … those were the days.

We even flew to Taiwan together with Pa. Lions Band, where unfortunately I got dysentery and… well, you probably don’t want to hear about it.

I also remember our musical in graduation, Oklahoma, where my friend was the principal (because he was talented) and my BFF played in the pit orchestra (because she was talented), and I was one of the chorus participants because was not so talented).

Yes, there are many stories to share. And my kids have heard them many times. And after this weekend many times more.

And, come this summer, we’ll make an annual trip to visit college friends where we’ll share more stories with more amazing people.

Not that I longed to go back and relive those days (Heavens, no!) Just nice to sit back and remember them along with the people who were there. And thankfully for me, they’re still here.

Holly Fletcher writes for the Gettysburg Times and is a home-staying mother who believes that all parents should learn to write to their children and “make friends” with them on social media to cause them much (more) embarrassment.