My boss at the first job I had after college turns eighty-eight this week. How could that be? Especially when I am ten years and one month younger than he is which makes me almost seventy-eight.
I moved to Boston with my roommate after college because she was chasing a guy she had had a summer fling with. She never got him, but she’s been married to a different guy for well over fifty years and we are both still here.
But back to my first job. As I have noted here before, a woman not being married by the time she graduated from college was quite a failure back then. So wearing my new red and green plaid suit with a hat (!!!!)--like my mother would have worn--I managed to convince this now-almost-nonagenarian that I would become indispensable. And I did--for five years.
We’ve remained sort-of friends over the years, but after he got divorced, I saw his wife and her new husband much more often than I saw him.
Although he looks very grandfatherly on Google Images, I can remember him as a young, pipe-smoking, smart lawyer and I can remember how many laughs we had. I’m still close to my then office-mate who has lived in California for years.
Many sweet memories, but oh, so long ago. And such a different time…