Dan takes in his 45th Reunion at Fair Lawn Senior High School (Part 3 of 3)

Weaving in and out of all the bodies of my classmates outside the large dinner and dance ballroom at the Marriott, I am given a bottle of a Chambourcin, a Pennsylvania Red Table Wine.  Don’t you love free stuff!   Our classmate Elaine, a vintner (Franklin Hill Vineyards), has provided bottles for every grad.   [I saved my bottle to share with the first class of ’66 classmate who comes to our place in Maine.  We’re just off the Maine Turnpike.]  We are each given a softcover book with all the names and addresses of the grads and a short bio for those who had submitted one.  It turns out I wrote the longest one.  Where does that kind of hubris come from?  I am not proud of that fact and for a guy who likes to blend in, I am a little embarrassed.  As usual, I hope nobody notices, at least tonight. 

Looking out for me, my classmates Doc and Shiffy include me at their table in a ballroom, which is filled with twenty such tables for 10-12 on either side of the dance floor.  Time just melts away as I turn to talk or have one classmate after another come up to me in an easy flow of conversation.  Tonight is like a prom without the pressure of impressing others or wondering if I will be exposed as one who can’t dance.  It is a coffee hour/pregame with few of the self-doubts of the teenage years.  Classmates are, it seems, comfortable with whom they are and are just chilling.  At least that’s what I see through my rose-colored glasses.

The Reunion Committee got it right by not scheduling any events during the evening.  A class picture is taken, but the night is just about reconnecting.  Different from my high school persona, I am not shy about approaching classmates.  My go-to question for getting conversations started is, Where do you call home now?   That leads to conversations about marital status (seems an equal number are divorced or have been married forever), kids (little bragging goes on, just the update), and career (seems we have a lot of lawyers, but they look trustworthy to me.)  Classmates just don’t seem full of themselves.  They are open, interested, and relaxed.  My key for successful conversations and relationships in general is finding people who are both interesting and interested.  I hit the jackpot tonight.

Paul and I talk.  Now living the good life in California, he played on the high school tennis team with me a million years ago.  At the time, I was so driven to be #1 to his #2.   Tonight I am glad to see how happy and happily married he is.  

Separately, I chat up with Wayne and Bob, who played in the band with me.  We all played clarinet and marched at the football games.  The band was a place where I belonged.  Bands are like cross country teams – they take everyone. 

Susan, the chair of the Reunion, is the ambassador for the night, checking with us all, graciously welcoming us to the Reunion.  I so get that tonight doesn’t happen unless she, Sue, Laraine, Anne, Roz, and Idy, the Reunion Committee, step up and make things happen.  Thank you ladies!  Gabe, Tim, and Lou, from Radburn days are here.  They go back even further to my grade school days. 

Fred is here, too.  A band guy as well.  My strong memory of him is his driving me home from a basketball game on a snowy night and purposefully braking and skidding on the snow up and down 20^th Street in Fair Lawn.  Linda proudly shows off her husband; I am taken by their mutual joy. 

I don’t have a drink.  I don’t dance (I know my limitations).  I just revel in seeing the old gang from high school.  I lose track of time.  Nine thirty comes and goes.  I am surprised during the evening the number of classmates who mention it must have been hard being the principal’s son.  I wanted to be known for who I was, not that my Dad was the high school principal.  Fact is, it couldn’t have been easy for my Dad either.    

And now I am on Facebook, checking in on the class of ’66.   Fred and I will meet in Jersey in the coming year.  Doc, Shiffy, and I regular email, especially focusing on Doc’s G Men, Shiffy’s Chargers, and my New England Patriots.  (Two out of three ain’t bad [Thank you Meatloaf!) are in this year’s Super Bowl.

Would I do it again for our 50th?  In a heartbeat.  This time I’d go to all the activities.  The trip back to the high school.  The Friday evening get-together.  Saturday and Sunday breakfasts with classmates.    

So why do people come to reunions in their 60s?  Some don't go to reunions because living once through the high school years is enough.  Others go because you really can go home again.  They are nostalgic about their little town and their growing up years.  It’s a skewed group of self-selected 63 year olds who are, I’m guessing, in a good place in their lives.  We did have a common set of events that shaped our thinking and our lives (e.g., Viet Nam War, Boom economy, 9/11).  It seems that anyone who comes to a reunion pretty much likes who they are and cares somewhat less what others think. 

Well, I made it to 1150P.  I didn’t turn into a pumpkin.   I couldn’t have had more fun.  And sign me up for 2016 for our 50^th Reunion.  It’s the best $95 I’ve spent in a long time.