Making the Grade

As I idly leaf through the day’s mail, mostly ad circulars and credit offers, the print on the outside of one envelope leaps out at me: Come to our 40-year high school class reunion! Of course it comes as no surprise—neither the number of years I’ve been out of school, nor the fact that a reunion is in the works. No, the little jolt that just shook me comes from the sudden realization that it’s too late to lose 20 pounds.

The fact that this particular reunion invitation is for my husband’s class—not mine—makes no difference. We attended the same school, and though he’s much older than I am (by one class year), if I’m lucky I will be recognized by many of his classmates, perhaps even some of the ones I had crushes on in high school. And if I’m unrecognizable, undoubtedly we’ll all be sporting name tags to allow fellow reunion-goers to pretend otherwise.

But … do I WANT to be recognized? Besides the body bulges, other things are sagging and graying and whatnot. So … do I go with him to the reunion, or do I find myself otherwise engaged that weekend? Maybe schedule that root canal? For crying out loud (I say to myself), get a grip! Like everyone will be focused on YOU! Like no one else has aged! Like your outward appearance defines who you are! What are you, still 16? Haven’t you matured at all in the past 40 years? Thus chastised by myself, I tell Curt to sign me up, and proceed to prepare for the event as if capping the BP oil spill hinges on my teeth being pearly, my hair freshly highlighted, and my outfit properly accessorized.

So we go to the reunion of Ankeny (Iowa) High School’s great class of 1970. Of course no one with a modicum of common sense will believe me if I say that I don’t notice how people look. Obviously I’m still the same shallow person who considers scheduling elective dental work to avoid others’ scrutiny. Let’s just be honest: Curiosity about how certain people “turn out” is one of the main forces driving us to attend these things. There’s a certain unseemly satisfaction one gets from seeing that everyone else is also in their late 50s, and many of them wear every year of it.

But reconnecting with those who meant something back then is the really fun part. A couple of Curt’s best friends from days of yore introduce us to their wives. A quick rapport develops, and Bryson and Mary invite Paul and Juli and us to their home so the guys can reprise their garage band (“House of the Rising Sun,” anyone?) and the wives can get acquainted. Bryson and Mary like to go to bed early, but it’s nearly 2 a.m. before we tear ourselves away amid vows to get together again soon. Though we all live in the Midwest, our respective cities are fairly distant. The next week, the women email one another to plan a weekend without the guys—in Las Vegas. These new friends are an unexpected bonus for me.

I’m glad to say I learned something valuable from this whole experience, which I hope to remember next year before the invitation to my own 40th reunion arrives in the mail. Something about making new friends, and keeping the old? Something about what’s on the inside mattering most? Yeah, yeah, blah, blah. The really valuable lesson is that next year I need to start my diet in January.