The other day I received an invitation to a 50th high school reunion. It’s going to be held at a fancy restaurant in July. At first, I thought the committee of my old classmates was exceptionally organized, since our 50th isn’t until next year. “Wow, they’re planning this thing a year and a half in advance,” I thought. “Well, there were many goody-goodies in my class, the ones who, on Friday afternoons, would remind the teacher to give us homework.”
But then I read the invitation a bit closer, and discovered the reunion is for a different class from a different high school in a different town. That school had a student also named William Dunn. The reunion committee searched online and came up with my name and address. So, now I’m invited to attend a party and reminisce about all the fun times I had with a bunch of people I’ve never met before.
But then I read the invitation a bit closer, and discovered the reunion is for a different class from a different high school in a different town. That school had a student also named William Dunn. The reunion committee searched online and came up with my name and address. So, now I’m invited to attend a party and reminisce about all the fun times I had with a bunch of people I’ve never met before.
At first I was going to send a note explaining they had the wrong person. But then I thought, no, I think I’m going to accept the invitation. I’ll register for the event and send them a check. It could be a very interesting evening. I bet I could convince a lot of them that I was indeed one of their classmates a half-century ago. I’m confident for one simple reason: at age 68 people don’t look anything like they did at age 18.
When I attended my 40th high school reunion nine years ago — with the actual people who were my classmates — I recognized very few of them, and very few recognized me. If it wasn't for the name tags we were required to wear, which included our yearbook photo, we all would’ve spent the night saying, “And, um, who are you again?” rather than what we did say, “So great to see you! You haven’t changed a bit!”
When I attended my 40th high school reunion nine years ago — with the actual people who were my classmates — I recognized very few of them, and very few recognized me. If it wasn't for the name tags we were required to wear, which included our yearbook photo, we all would’ve spent the night saying, “And, um, who are you again?” rather than what we did say, “So great to see you! You haven’t changed a bit!”
In the mid-1970s as teenagers we were all skinny with way too much hair. (Don’t forget, the ‘70s is known as the “decade that fashion forgot.”) Four decades later we all were, um, how should I phrase this? We all were rather stocky with very little hair. And this was true for the men, too.
If I go to the reunion this summer for that incorrect class and school, I’m certain I’ll fit right in. No one will have any idea that I never attended their school, mostly because they won’t recognize the people who DID attend their school. I’ll laugh along as people describe some of the crazy things I supposedly did in high school, and then I’ll embellish those stories (because that’s kind of my superpower) with some completely outlandish tales. Won’t they be surprised to find out I was the one who set off the cherry bomb in the teacher’s lounge toilet! It will be a fun night.
Of course, to pull this off, I will have to do a little research. I’ll have to track down some data about that particular class and that particular school. I’ll need information such as the names of the school principal, football coach, our class valedictorian (ooh, maybe it was me?), the homecoming queen (ooh, maybe she was my girlfriend?), and some of the infamous teachers. If it turns out I was married for a while to the homecoming queen, that will be an opportunity for some REALLY outlandish stories.
If I go to the reunion this summer for that incorrect class and school, I’m certain I’ll fit right in. No one will have any idea that I never attended their school, mostly because they won’t recognize the people who DID attend their school. I’ll laugh along as people describe some of the crazy things I supposedly did in high school, and then I’ll embellish those stories (because that’s kind of my superpower) with some completely outlandish tales. Won’t they be surprised to find out I was the one who set off the cherry bomb in the teacher’s lounge toilet! It will be a fun night.
Of course, to pull this off, I will have to do a little research. I’ll have to track down some data about that particular class and that particular school. I’ll need information such as the names of the school principal, football coach, our class valedictorian (ooh, maybe it was me?), the homecoming queen (ooh, maybe she was my girlfriend?), and some of the infamous teachers. If it turns out I was married for a while to the homecoming queen, that will be an opportunity for some REALLY outlandish stories.
It will be helpful if their yearbook is posted online somewhere. Then I can find the other William Dunn’s photo to see what I used to look like. If it turns out he was a 5-ft 6-in Black guy, that’s still no problem. After all, over the span of 50 years, people change a lot!
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