This coming weekend, I will be attending my 45th high school class reunion. It will be the first one I've attended, since every year there was a reunion scheduled, I was always outside of the country in some God forsaken place, or I just forgot about it.
The newsletter stated the attire for the reunion would be casual, but I still haven't zeroed in on specifics yet. I searched my closet, high and low, for my Beatle boots, pipe stem blue jeans with zippers sewn in at the ankles, and madras shirt, to no avail. Rats. Mom must have sold them in a yard sale, forty years ago. She never was one to hang on to nostalgia.
I'm excited to see my old classmates, but apprehensive of what to expect.
Will the girls I dated remember me? Not a chance. I think I was only four feet tall when I was a senior, so I had to date the sophomores.
We might observe a moment of silence with respect to the former "Green Parrot" Bar, where most of us hung out. Back then, we could drink at 18 years old, with the aid of fake ID's.
Is there a chance that someone might mistake me for the star quarterback instead of the student manager?
Regardless, I'm looking forward to seeing each and every person from the Joplin High School graduating class of 1966.