Common themes: Finding out how many kids everybody’s got, and detailing experiences which have finally opened our eyes up to the simple fact that we’re getting old. I’m shoving everything else below the fold because it’s really off topic for this blog, but whatever, I feel like posting anyway.

The official reunion was canceled just like our 5 year was. There simply wasn’t enough participation to actually put something together. We graduated with around 85 people and around 10 people showed up for the unofficial reunion. That ought to give you an idea on how enthused folks are about getting together from my high school class.

Consequently the class officer in charge of putting them together has already said she’s not going to try again. If somebody else wants the reins, cool, she’ll hand everything over, but she’s not going to bother tracking everybody down again. I don’t blame her.

Jokingly I said, “Well… if this is the kind of participation we’re expecting in the future I could just make a big dinner and have everybody over.” Theresa mentioned that I do a lot of cooking around the house, and I really like it, which shocked the hell out of everybody. Rightfully so.

Apparently I had a goal my senior year to wear nothing but sweat pants to class. I had forgotten about that. I developed a severe dislike of jeans somewhere around my Jr. High years and always wore khakis, dress pants, or sweat pants until I was 21, when I bought a finally bought a pair of jeans.

Theresa got to see a few pictures of me from the year book. She was mildly amused and once again informed me that I’m not allowed to shave off all my facial hair ever again.

When we were seated for dinner I asked if everybody had heard about the local Little League president embezzling money that year. The wife of one of my old classmates was on top of it, having read about it in the local paper. Once everybody was fully aware of what he did I piped up with, “Yeah… that’s my Uncle Jim!” I get a chuckle out of doing that, and I always point out he’s an in-law, not blood relation.

My “I’m getting old” story was that I can’t tell the difference between high schoolers and college kids anymore. It happened to me while we were on our honeymoon (a college and high school football team were staying in our hotel and I couldn’t tell the difference) and when I was driving through town and saw some college cheerleaders in uniform with signs for a fundraiser. I got a little ribbing on that one along the lines of “old dirty man” stuff.

That’s all I got.

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