by John Cargile

Created on: May 18, 2008

As adults we tend to look fondly on our high school years, occasionally musing "what if" in relation to academics, athletics, social activities, and friendships. Or we ponder what high school is like now for students.
For some students, high school is a battlefield they must survive every day.

With a granddaughter graduating from high school this month, it is time for celebration. Yet, as Solomon once wrote in the book of Ecclesiastes, there is a right time for everything. A time to be born, a time to die; a time to plant, a time to harvest; a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to destroy, a time to rebuild; a time to cry, a time to laugh; a time to grieve, a time to dance; a time for scattering stones, a time for gathering stones; a time to hug, a time not to hug; a time to find, a time to lose; a time for keeping, a time for throwing away; a time to tear, a time to repair; a time to be quiet, a time to speak up; a time for loving, a time for hating; a time for war, a time for peace.

This week the topic of high school came up among two men riding on a school bus with children ages three years to 18.

While the two men were talking (one of them was me) we found a common tie. We both knew a couple who graduated from my high school. He knew them from his pastoral days in Nashville, TN. Both had risen to become wealthy in Nashville, especially the girl I once knew. She was president of Tree Publishing, the No. 1 country music publishing company in Nashville. She sold it recently to Sony. She's rich.

On Sunday this week I received an email from a high school buddy that a classmate whom I was very close to died on May 17. I was saddened. It is ironic that Donna Whitten Hilley of music fame, and my close friend, Bobby, lived just blocks from one another while growing up.

Bobby Gardiner worked and lived in Jacksonville, FL for as long as I can remember. He will be buried in Jacksonville this week. He has an older brother, Don Gardiner, living in Coker, the same community I live. I see him on occasion. He is a retired banker.

Bobby telephoned me a couple months ago after undergoing heart surgery. At the time he was feeling great. I had not talked to him since and figured he was fully recovered. Then I get the notification he has died, leaving a wife, and three children behind.

My high school memories concerning my deceased buddy are all good. We both played football, baseball and basketball together for our high school team. We were like bookends in football. He lined

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