The Bitter and Sweet of Reconnection
Have you ever looked back and longed to sit again with a friend from the past?
Just to fish together, to watch the tiny bobber on a small pond, like you used to? Or stroll through the malls again on a lazy Saturday afternoon and look for classmates?
Sometimes we try to resurrect an old friendship like a well-worn photograph pulled from a drawer—faded, yes, but still precious. And yet, like the seasons, not every friendship blooms again after a long winter.
Shakespeare understood this. In Henry IV, Part 2, the aging knight Sir John Falstaff seeks to revive his once-boisterous friendship with Prince Hal, now transformed into the austere King Henry V. Falstaff, still full of mischief and warmth, greets him with open arms and full heart:
“My king! my Jove! I speak to thee, my heart!”
But the King, now cloaked in royal responsibility, turns cold:
“I know thee not, old man. Fall to thy prayers.
How ill white hairs become a fool and jester…
Presume not that I am the thing I was…
I have turned away my former self.
So will I those that kept me company.”
The sting of those words is eternal. Age may warm our memories but it does not guarantee we remain part of each other’s stories.
Morse Code and Memory
A few years ago, I met up with Jack, a boyhood friend from the old neighborhood. We hadn’t seen each other for a while, but the moment we shook hands, time folded like an accordion. We laughed about our amateur radio days—hours spent in basements fiddling with wires, tubes, and secondhand transmitters, piecing together magic with soldering irons and spare parts.
Jack could still tap out the Morse Code alphabet, his fingers dancing lightly on an invisible key. Those were the halcyon days—when we were 13-year-old explorers, our voices skipping across airwaves to reach strangers in far-off towns, or even continents. With each connection, we felt a bit taller, a bit wiser, like captains of ships charting unknown seas.
Different Frequencies
But life, like radio static, can interfere. As a young adult, Jack went on to succeed in the world of high finance, a life full of towering windows, polished granite countertops, and international travel. I took a quieter path, working with nonprofit organizations, listening to different kinds of signals—helping family life, publishing religious material, living in quiet service.
I remember sitting in Jack’s kitchen, where the walls were all glass and the light streamed in like applause. We talked, we reminisced—but beneath it all, we both could likely sense a certain gap between us. We spoke the same language, yes, but perhaps now on different frequencies. Even our politics, I suspect, had tuned to opposing stations.
The Worth of a Shared Past
Still, that afternoon with Jack brought something valuable—a reconnection not just with him, but with a younger version of ourselves. Old friends are mirrors with long memories. They remind us of who we were before life carved its lines into our faces. They remind us of dreams we’ve shelved, and the youthful fire we once stoked with nothing more than curiosity and spare wire.
The Book of Sirach wisely tells us:
“Do not forsake an old friend, for a new one does not compare with him. A new friend is like new wine—when it has aged, you will drink it with pleasure.”
Friendship, like radio waves, may bounce around the world, but it also fades without steady maintenance. If you are lucky enough to keep an old friend close, cherish them. And if you try to reconnect, know that even if the past can’t be fully revived, it can still be honored.