Oh. My. Word. I. Am. Old. Those are my first thoughts when I get the email. Thirty years since we left Timpview High School. And then, as I scroll through the short bios and photographs of my peers, I revise that to "Hey! We're holding up pretty well!" I recognize most of the faces and all of the names. The smiles are the same even if the hair and figures have altered. We all have similar stories -- kids, grandkids, travel, work, illnesses, ups and downs -- with a few variations on the theme, but on the whole, it feels like we're still the same group we were thirty years ago.
I grew up in a smallish town, and a lot of the kids in my high school I'd known since we were in kindergarten. We went to school and church together, and a lot of us went on to university together. An astonishing number of us married fellow classmates. It was heartwarming to read what they'd written -- the humour, the updates, the losses, the testimonies -- and even though I know most people roll their eyes when it comes to class reunions, I can honestly say I'm interested in how they all turned out, where they all ended up, and whether life has been kind to them. Some of them ended up predictably, following the passions and interests they had at a young age. Some of them surprised me (how many of them now live in China?).
I doubt most of them even remember me, as I was the shy and awkward geek hiding behind the book in the lunch room. The one with the denim overalls and the two braids, like something that rolled out of a Kansas cornfield. (What can I say? It's an uncomfortable age. At least I avoided the Farah Fawcett hair.) Class of '85, you're a great bunch, and it's been a privilege to know you!
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