Vanayoung -
The Story Behind 'Our Forever Young'

Every rose that I introduce will have a story or be named for a special person that had a major effect on my life. 'Our Forever Young' is no different than any other rose I have introduced thus far. The following was finished some seven years ago. It was years in the making, and was written through countless revisions and many late night sessions. I vowed never to work on it again, until a rose was introduced to go along with the story. It took me until this year to find a rose I felt suited the story.

This story was originally a very small part of another one I wrote about a very courageous young lady, Hera, and her equally courageous and loving mother. Unfortunately, I had to cut Hera out of her own story, and substitute what you will read here. The words and events still hurt as much today as they did all those years ago. Some day I will complete my story about Hera and her rose, Vanasong, but that story will need to wait till another time . . .

. . . Every 28 years, calendars repeat. This is a fact that cannot be disputed, and, exactly 28 years to the day after I entered high school, my daughter entered the same high school that I did. She and I experienced the same holidays, vacations, football games, band concerts, and everything else a typical, red-blooded, American high school student experiences - exactly 28 years apart. Her class even lost one of its members during its senior year . . .

. . . Some Four-Letter Words I Know . . .

SIGN is a four-letter word I know very well. There are thousands of them all around us guiding us through our daily lives. I try to pay attention to them, whenever I can. One particular sign I know marks a spot in a quiet little town, on a dark, and lonely stretch of road. Graduation Day was only but a week away. The six were the “Cream of the Crop,” the smartest, the brightest, the “Best of the Best” the little town had to offer. With high school all but a memory, they had their whole lives ahead of them. They were focused on the future. Determined to make their mark on the world around them, and live out the “Great American Dream” . . . college . . . marriage . . . children . . . a house . . . get rich . . . retire . . . and watch the next generation do it all over again. That’s what’s supposed to happen. That’s what we’ve been told, since we were so very young.

FATE . . . it’s one of those four-letter words we deal with every day. At times, I am thankful that fate has intervened, and at times, I loathe the great depths it can bring. We never know when it’s going to change the lives of the people we know. On one dark and rainy night, fate intervened with the “Best of the Best,” and struck them down. Five of the six were killed instantly, while the sixth slipped into another four-letter word, I wish I didn’t know, called “COMA,” never to fully awake. Fate has twisted its dirty deed, and transformed the “Cream of the Crop” to the “Forever Young,” in our hearts and minds.

SONG . . . a four-letter word we listen to nearly every day. Some make us happy, and some can be quite sad. More often than not, the words of songs have great strength and power. Many times the words help us to grow and learn about ourselves. The world is full of many such great songs. They often bring back memories of the people we know best. At times they can remind us of some of our earliest and most precious memories.

“We’ve Only Just Begun” by the Carpenters is one such great, and powerful song. It’s usually played on happy occasions. With heavy hearts, we sang it on Graduation Day, but six of the smartest and brightest voices weren’t there to sing it with us. Scattered throughout the class, were cold, gray, empty, metal chairs. They were decorated with white flowers and neatly tied ribbons, conspicuous by their emptiness. Chairs — so, silent — so, eerily silent — as we sang along . . . chairs — waiting — so, patiently waiting — waiting for your return. We sang that song to mark the beginning of our quest for the “Great American Dream,” but now, that song brings back memories that symbolize something quite different.

HEAR . . . it’s what we do when we listen to the songs. Sometimes we enjoy hearing a song played really loudly, and sometimes a quiet one is just right. We hear voices of people, places, animals, and so many other great and wonderful sounds throughout our daily lives. These are the sounds of today. They are quite different than the sounds of so long ago. I can think of so many interesting and wonderful sounds in this world I’d like to hear. But, I’d take a world full of silence, if I could, just to hear your voices again, and sing that Carpenters’ song one more time with you.

WEEP . . . a four-letter word that my eyes do every time I work on this story. My son sometimes comes with me, when I visit that dark and lonely stretch of road, with the sign marking the spot. He knows why I visit the area, but he does not understand why I weep when I leave. But, alas, I weep in memory of you, our forever young, and for what might have been.

TEAR . . . one of those four-letter words we don’t always understand why, but they just appear. Many people have cried a tear or two for you, and I’d be lying if I said I never did. And, this quiet little town, with the sign marking the spot, on that lonely stretch of road, went into shock and great disbelief. After that dark and rainy night, this quiet little town has cried many a tear for our forever young. For these things are supposed to happen someplace else, not here.

TIME . . . that four-letter word that keeps a steady pace moving towards a future. It’s been over thirty years since Graduation Day. Our hair is a little thinner and is much more gray than we’d like to admit. We’ve gained a little weight, and have a house with a child or two, we now call our own. Yes, we’ve aged quite a bit, since that fateful night. We’ve smiled a little smile, laughed a little laugh, sang a little song, and cried a little tear or two. That elusive “Great American Dream,” is starting to get a little bit closer, now.

HEAL . . . it’s what happens to us after we have been wounded. Time is supposed to heal all wounds, and I must confess that it has healed many for me. But, time hasn’t dimmed those memories we have of you, our forever young . . .

MARK . . . JOHN . . . GENE . . . FRAN . . . KARL . . . BILL . . . all four-letter names of my former high school classmates, on a sign, on a dark and lonely stretch of road, in a quiet little town you may all know. May you rest in peace.

Andrew A. Vanable
Burrillville High School Class of ’82