Tomorrow night at this time I'll be at my 30 year High School Class Reunion. To use 1983 vernacular -- what a trip. What a trip that all this time has passed and so fast, and what a trip that we'll be in the same room with people we shared the high school experience with and haven't seen in years; decades even. Like anything that occurs only in 10 year increments, now accumulating a 30 year shelf life, it's a milestone. It sounds simple enough; gather everyone from the Class of 1983 together for one evening of reminiscing and catching up on what life's been like since Graduation. Throw in some dinner and cocktails and winner, winner chicken dinner. I've been a big proponent of not letting this occasion go unrecognized. So I'm a bit perplexed at my own reaction as it's drawn closer.
I've been almost bi-polaresque in my approach to this event. First there was looking forward to seeing people in person that I've been communicating with on Facebook. Then the question of what to wear came up. Initially I thought a bad ass dress was in order but then it seemed to say "over-kill." I just wrote a column called Come as You Are so I thought perhaps I'd like to dial it back a skotch. I got that same butterflies in my stomach feeling I had prior to Freshman orientation -- what if my clothes are wrong, how awkward is it to walk in alone, what if I have no one to talk to. And then I had to laugh. How ridiculous is it to entertain this dumb shit 30 years later?
I've come full circle to anticipating the interesting evening that lies ahead. Great memories will be shared, perhaps new ones will be made and the age-old question of "does life really progress much past the 12th grade?" shall be revealed. Can we just agree not to say "you remember me don't you?"