Sooner or later, we all have to deal with the ritual known as the "High School Reunion". Here are a few thoughts from someone who has been there but failed to buy the t-shirt.
As I take a few reflective sips of coffee this morning, I'm reminded of an impending personal milestone. For reasons which will soon become apparent, I'm tempted to change that to read "personal millstone".
Next year will mark my twentieth season out of high school. Of course you realize this means plane tickets, ill-fitting suits, complete memory loss, hotel reservations and an open bar. Guess which one will get my fullest attention. It's not that I'm against the need for class reunions on some intellectual plane, but sometimes I question the wholesale marketing of what may be a rather painful yardstick for some. I anticipate receiving quite a few unsolicited invitations from companies who specialize in class reunions. I have a feeling I'm going to separating a little wheat from a boatload of chaff when January arrives.
At first I feared that no one from my class would even find me. I just knew I'd end up on that collective Wanted Poster you always see in the local newspaper. Now with the glories of the Internet in full bloom, my new fear is that EVERYONE will find me. I can't speak for all of you, but don't you sometimes think of your former classmates as perpetual teenagers? My last contact with 90% of my class was in 1983, a year of Reaganomics and fluorescent clothing. I'm not sure I'm ready to meet the modern editions who will show up en masse at the one country club in my hometown. I just know I'm going to expect parachute pants and leg warmers a-plenty, while the DJ plays Duran Duran and a Flock of Seagulls.
As badly as I want to meet the accountants, teachers, housewives and small business owners of today, part of me still wants to crawl back into the 80s womb and talk about Luke and Laura's wedding all night. Nostalgia isn't everything, but sometimes it's the thing that will keep you the warmest.
