Coming from a restaurant this morning, an old friend passed by me. I didn’t recognize him until he had entered by the door I had just exited. He didn’t recognize me although we had been associated for nearly 20 years. We had been to China together, survived the Tian An Men slaughter in 1989. He was my mentor, and, until I left his studio, I was his senior student and awarded the candle to carry on the style of kung fu he taught. In 1999 I went back to school at the age of 50 and got my teaching license. My time became consumed with lesson plans and correcting papers. I had no choice but to drop my study at the studio. I don’t think that he ever forgave me. We never spoke again.

Then again, he may not have recognized me. I’ve changed in those almost 20 years. I’ve grown gray and round, use a cane and have a beard, all part of aging less than gracefully. Also, I let my hair grow out. I wear it in a tight pony tail that my wife combs back for me every morning, an intimate and delightful way to start a day. Outwardly I am not the same person. Nor, come to think of it, am I the same person on the inside.

I have wanted to really let my hair grow since college, but never really had the chance, or conviction, come to that. There was always a dress code that kept me limited to a mustache or beard and hair not touching the collar. I accepted the stricture; I needed the job. Not so now. I’m retired and old enough I can do whatever the hell I want because, well, I’m old and so forgiven. I don’t have friends who will criticize my choice and wonder what I’m thinking. My friends are old and distant, folks I once knew and recently reencountered on the internet. No one nearby to comment and critique. (Once years ago I had let my hair grow a bit below the collar and Lydia’s Grandma Scofield told me that people with no neck shouldn’t wear long hair! Bless her heart. She also gave me a pink tea pot at Christmas, but I didn’t take that as a comment; she gave an identical teapot to my brother-in-law, a tall ultra- masculine PE teacher.) I don’t keep in touch with friends. I barely communicate with my sisters, unlike my wife who has friends all over town, does “lunch” often and gets us invited to parties and dinner. To my mind, my friends are as they were 50 years ago in Wyoming, or are the friends of 30 years ago in Oregon. Only one or two have the new faces of old age.

I’ve had some qualms about wearing my hair long. I like to think that I don’t care what others think of me, but I am a very non-confrontational person, despite the black belt, and prefer to avoid unpleasantness. Perhaps deep down I do care.

In a few weeks my 50th high school reunion happens. For me, the gathering is a matter of curiosity. I want to know how some people “turned out”, what became of them and how they lived their lives. Oddly enough, I’m looking forward to seeing them, to see how they’ve weathered life. I’m looking forward to reactions, theirs and mine. How do we look 50 years on? Fifty years ago, I weighed 118 pounds and had a crew cut. I looked skinny and anorexic (before looking anorexic was fashionable). Now, I have a striking resemblance to a west coast version of Santa Claus. (MY God, he moved to Oregon and turned into a hippie!) Will I recognize anyone? Will they recognize me? Does it really matter after this long?

Curiosity aside, I want some sign that they have been happy and have had a good life. Once we were connected and spent time together as young adults before we left for the larger world. We may no longer be friends but we are still connected. Kids who grew up in a small town on the high plains of Wyoming yearning for more and hoping for better, resenting the snow that had to be shoveled and the lawn that had to be mowed. We left our childhood behind us in the bleachers, and gyms, and backseats of cars. Together we stood and threw our hats into the air and entered the world of adults, ready or not. It is the “Tie that Binds” us, even now.

So, fifty years later, I wear my hair long, try to stick to my diet, and to remember my pills. I look forward to seeing my old friends. It is unlikely that I will see any of them again after this trip.