How you evaluate the sentence Im about to write depends on your definition of the words pathetic and reliable.
I have never missed a high school class reunion.
There.
I said it.
And its the truth.
So am I pathetic or reliable?
Think about that for a while as you ponder this next fact: there will, apparently, be no 40th.
According to my sources – and they are well-placed – the event was cancelled, even before the invitations were sent, always a bad sign. There are various theories, ranging from the financial to the philosophical, the practical to the subliminal, but the reality is that the memory train has been derailed.
And thats fine with me, I guess. I mean, its not like was in the war room when the decision was made. Im 770 miles from the epicenter and, as such, might as well have been orbiting the Earth, contemplating time travel, listening to Rocket Man or Space Oddity or Satellite of Love or Space Truckin, all hits during my high school days.
Perhaps a better soundtrack might have been to crank a little Steely Dan, a cosmic tune from their second album, and try to understand the sardonic wisdom in the line, Im never going back to my old school.
Never.
Going.
Back.
Reunions are for the reliable AND the pathetic, I believe, and thats cool: kind of like high school itself. Our class, in a bit of self-revelatory insouciance, decided to hold its 5th reunion six years after wed all left it all behind.
I loved that.
We called it a five-year reunion, daring logic, the calendar and mathematics to challenge us. I dont remember a whole lot about that night, since I had been charged with the responsibility of providing the music – on cassettes! – while still trying to enjoy the rarified air of sharing the same space with those same people with whom I had breathed the same air for four years.
Got any Cheap Trick? a cute girl who never bothered to talk to me back when asked. Journey?
I pressed the play button and gave her Brown Sugar instead.
FOUR YEARS LATER, we were back on a normal calendar and our 10th actually was held in 1983 ... though I remember virtually nothing about that night, even though I had nothing to do with the music. What the hell, I was 28, single and having fun.
This, faithful readers, is the way I lived my life back then. Use your imagination.
Five years after that, I was involved with a woman who would become my wife and she had very different views on how I should appear at the 15th.
Do you even own a tie? she asked.
Sure, I said. I wore it to Moms funeral ... seven years ago.
We need to upgrade your wardrobe, she said.
I looked good, in spite of myself, that night.
And my girlfriend who would become my fiancee and then my bride was an absolute hit. For someone whod never attended one of her own, she was a reunion all-star, blending in perfectly.
Ever since 1988, weve attended all of those every-five-years gatherings and Im always so proud to have her with me.
I married way, way up.
It hasnt hurt that shes become friends with the wives of my closest friends and that they always enjoy poking fun at us as we search for whatever pot of gold lies at the end of the reunion rainbow.
To me, its all about staying in the background, never wanting to be the guy who earned the Lampshade Award, given to the one who, well, went a little overboard and needed a life jacket to get back aboard the S.S. Sanity.
I treasure those conversations, especially the ones with folks I didnt run with back then, and have written often about them. Theres something about a reunion, whether youre wearing ratty jeans or a suit, that makes it special. One thing is for sure, though. The women in our class have aged much better than the men.
Its not even close.
IN A WAY, Im kind of glad that our 40th has been scratched, not that I dont wish other pathetic or reliable classmates hadnt had the choice of attending or not.
(Lots of negative words in that last sentence ... Hmmm.)
Its because I had already committed to being part of my wifes oceanfront family reunion that same weekend. For a while, I thought I could do both, but now that the high school thing is a no-go, I can devote myself to the Outer Banks and eight days away from home and work.
Thats not bad compensation and, once again, Ill be in charge of the music.
And the cooking.
And the card games.
Should be a lot of fun.
But there will be a part of me imagining an illusion.
High school reunions – and my reliable or pathetic – participation in them have never embarrassed me; the contrary, I always looked forward to them. But all good things must come to an end.
Right?
Ironically, my wife had already been planning what I would wear in early September, back when it looked as if it was all happening.
Ditch the tie, she said. Wear that white jacket over the black Stones T-shirt, those ripped jeans and the new Reeboks. Youll rock.
And then she looked at me.
Dont get a haircut, she said. Trust me on this.
So, three days after I heard the 40th wasnt happening, I rode my bike down to the haircut place and lost seven or eight inches of excess summer weight. Im heading for the beach in less than a month and I plan to maximize my tan.
So, pathetic or reliable?
I suppose a better word might be comfortable.
Class reunions can cause a lot of angst and I get that. Its not easy talking with essential strangers who might not even remember Joe Walsh, let alone the James Gang, but thats why I always carry one of the 5th/6th get-together cassettes in my backpack.
And then you have the Stones, the Beatles, Creedence, Alice Cooper and ... before you know it, theres a party blooming and booming.
Im 58 years old.
Next time, if theres a next time, Ill be 63, and itll have been 10 years since Ill have seen most of those folks.
Better start looking for another tie.
Or a rattier pair of jeans.
Mike Dewey can be emailed at CarolinamikedD@aol.com. He can reached at 6211 Cardinal Drive and if you havent paid a visit to his Facebook page, consider yourself invited to do just that.
