Is it my breath? Old friends and odd reunions

The night of my high school graduation remains the loneliest time in my life. Picked up my diploma (they didn't trust us enough to pass out diplomas on stage), turned in my robe and went home.

Parents gave me money to go to Bonanza Steakhouse. Went to eat by myself and then back home.

No parties. No friends. Nothing.

Okay, now that I've set the scene for you, this is not about teen angst and whining. So I'm almost sure you're asking, 'What led to an overcooked T-bone and free refills of iced tea (and where am I going with this?)?'

This is a tough blog to write and not sound like a whine. I will anyway, because I have some questions about what happens to relationships.

I've been in contact lately with some high school friends (keeping in mind that I've been out of school for almost 35 years), and the results been . . . confusing? Someone in Port Arthur created a Web site for TJ (Port Arthur Jefferson) alumni -- the school no longer exists -- and it's already attracted more than 3,000 online participants. Amazing!

I've reconnected with some friends through the Web site, and visiting with them has been a real treat. In other venues, I've become good blogging friends with someone who was just an acquaintance in high school, and now she's been a wonderful re-connect with Southeast Texas. Some of these folks seem to be just like me and have picked up like we chatted over coffee just yesterday.

Unfortunately, there have been some 'odd' reunions -- odd as in 'what just happened?' -- with those whose friendships I valued. Any renewal of -- for lack of a better term -- childhood friendships just 'poofed' with an e-door in the face, and nothing was left but some cyber-dust. I've been really surprised . . . and sadly embarrassed . . . with who slammed the door. And, unfortunately, no amount of self-examination has given me an answer.

My wife says that I can carry on a meaningful conversation with a tree, and she becomes proudly frustrated when she hears business associates, hers and mine, say, 'Everybody loves George (her words, not mine).' I throw that in as some kind of evidence that I'm a nice guy and not somebody hanging out in an overcoat and black socks.

I guess it must be strange -- and maybe a little frightening, reason for apprehension -- to hear from someone after 30+ years, especially when I think of all the phases of life I've passed through (you should be happy that you didn't catch me in the admitted asshole phase) and assuming that others have changed just as dramatically during three decades.

So what's up? Is it my breath?

I mention my high school graduation because that seems to be a pivotal point in my life, when I packed my emotional and social bags and left Port Arthur behind (although I lived there another 3 1/2 years). My senior year sucked for a bunch of reasons (too awkward to explain here . . . if you were there, don't feel bad; it wasn't your fault . . . really!). It was a powerful enough experience that I've always warned my own children: never abandon your friends. I do believe all that revolved around those seemingly forever nine months resulted in a 1974 Bonanza-night out and a decades-long relationship void with those from my hometown.

I wrote in my very first blog that my wife must think I'm in the witness protection program because I have so few contacts -- well, really none -- from my childhood in Port Arthur. I've also blogged and asked about what happens to people during their lives that makes them grow from the same environment into 180s on the life-outlook scale.

As I've grown older, I've recognized the need to leave the 'witness protection program.' Now, I'm wondering: how do you say, 'you were important to me' to those who have just 'poofed?'

But to those who re-warmed yesterday's cup of coffee and just enjoyed the chat: THANKS!