My 50th High-School Reunion
I attended my 50th high-school reunion last week, and before I try to describe the experience, I must thank two groups of people: the organizers and the non-class members who attended.
The 13 committee members who organized the reunion — all female, I’m ashamed to admit — did a phenomenal job. They had been working on this event for well over a year, and their herculean efforts showed. Not only did they reserve the venue and arrange for the food, the music, and the karaoke, but they also provided souvenirs and raffle tickets for special prizes. One additional special feature was our photo/name tag which included the image that identified us in our 1969 yearbook. Unfortunately, a few of us have aged a bit, so the photo didn’t always help as we tried to identify one another, and our deteriorating eyesight made it almost impossible to read the names below the photos. After a while, some just gave up and said, “I’m sorry; who are you?”
I also have to thank the non-class members, my wife included, who attended. They are the unsung heroes of the evening. They patiently listened as we sang our alma mater to open the evening, and they tolerantly endured our fictional tales of our “Glory Days,” stories that become more fantastic and more unbelievable as the years pass.
“That story’s not true,” I heard one classmate say when one such story was recounted.
