To Know Him is to Love HIm

In preparation for today's column, I pitched the question on Facebook - should I write before or after my 40th high school reunion? The majority voted for "after," although one of the "before's" suggested that the unknown is always more interesting. A few directed me to do both, as I could write about the anticipation - and then the stark reality afterwards. Decisions, decisions . . .

I'm grateful to be spared some of the traditional trauma of class reunions. Since the dress is casual, I won't have to suffer the clothes-shopping ordeal. Yes, the slender young woman with glistening black hair is still a part of me, but sadly, she doesn't make an appearance in the unforgiving dressing room mirrors.

The second blessing in disguise is that my long-time high school boyfriend is not on the attendance list. However, my prom date is, but since he recently reported to the world that he moved into senior citizen housing, I should look like a spring chicken in comparison! But enough of the anticipation - stay tuned for next week's column for the stark reality of the class of 1973!

I'm not sure that an evening at the Elks club once every 5-10 years allows us to truly know each other, as the temptation is to rehash old high school stories of pranks and crabby teachers, of broken hearts and shattered dreams. Yet the question I'm most interested in is not "who were we?" No, I want to know, "who are we today?" I've gotten some hints from reading about classmates on Facebook, but it is in the face-to-face connection, day after day, that we truly come to know one another.

So here's my segue to Part B. I am privileged to truly know long-time Mifflin resident Pete Twitchell. Not from the faded photos of a high school yearbook, not from his blog posts or Facebook pages (he hasn't made that leap yet), but up close and personal.

Larry and I spent a marvelous evening at Ashland's Kroc Center last week, celebrating this most recent June Metcalf Elder in Residence at the Salvation Army. Designed to honor the gifts of those who qualify for a Golden Buckeye card, the selection of Pete Twitchell as an Elder in Residence is the perfect choice. If the previous recipients were chosen for their specific focus (June Metcalf, knitting and crocheting, Bunny Wachtel, Abraham Lincoln buff), Pete displays the opposite, an eclectic mix of interests that embrace the world, from the home he built in Mifflin, Ohio to the Mosquito Coast of Honduras.

Pete's a buggy-lugger from way back. If it needs to be moved, he's your man. He's hauled topsoil and compost to the Kroc Center gardens, and toys and coats, blankets and beans to poverty-stricken Cranks Creek, Kentucky. As a stone mason, he's hauled stone for a living, creating handsome patios and walls across Ohio. And he's hauled medical supplies in a canoe up-river year after year to the most remote reaches of Honduras.

Pete's life is a captivating story. With an adventurous spirit, he joined the Air Force to see the world, not to fly a desk in Boston. Early on in their marriage, he and his wife Cass lived in a teepee for a year while clearing their property, and discovered that a water bed in a teepee gets cold in September. His tale of the standoff with a groundhog intent on eating his way through his garden is a classic. I believe the old hymn, "I Love to Tell the Story," was written especially for Pete Twitchell - above all else, he's an evangelist of heart and voice.

Years ago, our dear friend Bill LaMarr preached a memorable sermon, "To know him is to love him." That's how it is with Pete. Pete's energetic smile spreads from his mouth to the crinkled corners of his eyes, and his joy has blessed generations of Ashlanders, Kentuckians, and Hondurans.

I can't vouch for my high school boyfriend or my prom date, but I can tell you this - Pete Twitchell's the real deal. What he talks, he walks. Up close and personal - indeed, to know him is to love him!