Who has a class reunion at 41?
I tried gallantly. To no avail.
If you can’t beat ‘em, I suppose, join ‘em.
My efforts worthless, I will do so.
The Smallville High School Class of 1976 will gather next month for its 40th-year reunion. I shall join them.
The Smallville High School Class of 1975 should have enjoyed its 40th-year reunion last year.
To no avail.
Although social media and email correspondences — correspondi? — are my friends, my efforts failed.
The Class of 1975 should have enjoyed its 40-year gathering. Heck, it should have gone bonkers over its 25-year reunion. But such is its way.
Think about it: 25 years in Y2K? Sounds more than cool to me.
My cousin vowed, after organizing our 10-year reunion, she would not again be “that girl” and put together another.
Along came 2005. The greatest class alive — “Smallville Class of ’75!” — should have been stoked.
No. Such. Luck.
On a whim, I ran into a ‘75er who said, “You realize this is our 30th year? Somebody needs to do something about that.”
I laughed in his face.
Then I got home and began kicking around the idea.
Thirty years. All of us on the cusps of 50.
I was faced with the realization that if our class wouldn’t hook up for its 25th year in Y2K, why would it do 30 in 2005?
We had a decent-sized crowd at the Smallville Country Club for our 30th. All on hand, I do believe, enjoyed the weekend.
An evening at said friend’s winery, a high school football game, a downtown gathering at the burger bar, a banquet and a “goodbye” brunch. And lots of time shared on my mother’s back deck.
A good time was had by all.
So why not do it again, as the talk was back in ought-five? Why not regather?
Because, I suppose, we the greatest class alive is not all that.
We discussed redoing things in Smallville, OKC or some other locale. We talked about a toned-down gathering: a ball game at dinner, maybe some dancing.
The result: zippo.
I was convinced by a classmate to again be “that guy.” I was more than willing.
No. Such. Luck.
I was resigned to the fact that never again would I be reunited with the greatest class alive.
OK. I figured I could live with that.
I would run into a few of them at funerals and similar events. I could live with that.
Except for the fact I struggle these days to remember their names, let alone their faces. That frightened me to some extent.
And then came the invite.
The Smallville Class of 1976 — juniors the year we graduated — decided to host its 40-year reunion at Medicine Park. Near Lawton. Near Smallville.
And had the decency to invite grads from 1975 and 1977.
Hey! I’ve heard this before.
Never works, right?
Is going to happen. Late next month. Cocktails, dinner, gatherings.
My only hope is that I will remember somebody.