Hop in the Wayback Machine

This weekend I hopped into my time machine and traveled back 30 years. The time machine was my car and the time travel involved my 30th high school reunion.

Just acknowledging the fact that I’ve been out of high school for thirty years is enough to depress me so I fill the five hour drive to New Jersey with music from the 70’s and 80’s. Shaun Cassidy, Styx and Journey blast from the speakers and a wave of nostalgia hits me as the “Welcome to New Jersey” sign comes into view. My parents have lived in the same house for over 50 years, so I consider myself fortunate that I’m able to revisit my childhood home often.

When I pull into my parent’s driveway I step out and close my eyes, inhaling deeply. The scent of the grass and indigenous trees bring back memories of my childhood, and for a split second I can pretend that it’s a summer day back in the 1970’s and I’m about to spend the day roaming the neighborhood with my friends. Reality sets in and I haul my adult size bags in the house and up to my old bedroom.

One the day of the reunion, I check the Facebook page of the classmate who is organizing the event. There’s a list of those who are scheduled to attend and as I scan this I see the names of classmates from as far back as first grade. My best friend Tracey, who I’ve known since fifth grade and still see several times a year, is my wingman for the evening. We meet for a drink prior to the reunion and make a pact to stick together, rescuing each other from banal conversation if necessary.
I don’t know what to expect from this reunion, having been to both my 10th and 20th previously. The 10th was fun, the 20th was impersonal (a reunion company was used) and the 30th is scheduled to be held at a local Knights of Columbus hall. As Tracey and I pull into the parking lot, we see several middle aged women who look in no way familiar to us. Perhaps this is due to the fact that our graduating class numbered more than seven hundred. We enter the K of C and sign in.

As I wait in line, I notice that the room is filling up fast with receding hairlines and beer bellies. The women look a bit better but many of them are starting to show the same pre-menopausal muffin top that I’ve been sporting. Faces look the same but many (including mine) are surrounded by a few more chins. I whisper to Tracey, “Wow. When did we get so old?” and this is emphasized by the name tag I’m given bearing my senior photo from 1981. Though the face in the photo is much thinner, my hairstyle was thicker; an afro. I console myself with the fact that in the intervening thirty years, I’ve learned about the benefits of hair products and no longer look like a doppelganger for James Caan.

As I mingle through the crowd, I’m reminded of how strange reunions really are. Someone you first met when you were six years old might not have given you the time of day in high school, but thirty years later we are hugging and exclaiming , “It’s great to see you!” We make our way through the crowd, squinting as we try to read each other’s name tags and see if the name or face rings a bell. Since many of us are friends on Facebook now, we already know what some people look like, what they do for work and how many children they have. Instead of whipping out our wallets with photos of our children, we pull out our smart phones and display an entire photo array of our kids.

The evening flows smoothly as the DJ plays hits by The Knack, Styx, Journey and Kansas. The Knights of Columbus are our bartenders for the night, pouring soda and beer and wine from a box. Several people have brought their yearbooks with them, and we pore over the pages, comparing the faces from yesterday with the reality of today. One guy in particular, who was thin and blond and hot in high school (and kind of full of himself) is totally unrecognizable with the addition of an extra hundred pounds and a Grizzly Adams beard. My friend says this makes her feel sad but personally it makes me feel great.

This time around I’m excited to catch up with Kim, a close friend from high school who has not been back to a reunion until this one. We reminisce about the perverted Psych teacher who supervised Driver’s Ed, how we tormented our French teacher, and the time we braved a snowstorm to see Cheap Trick in concert. Kim also tells me about the passing of both of her parents and how proud she is of her three children. Though we are Facebook friends, these are moments best shared in person.
Tracey and I sneak out before the reunion ends and find a quiet bar where we can share a drink and recap the evening. We laugh about the folks who have changed and the folks who haven’t. Though I enjoyed seeing all the faces from my past, I’m reminded of the fact that the most important friends from school are the ones I still see regularly, in particular the one who is sitting next to me at the bar sharing an order of potato skins.

I guess you can go home again after all.