30-Year Reunion . . . . Gawd!!

I just received an invitation to my 1977 high school class reunion.

Holy Mother of God!

I'm enclosing a pic of me on my folk's ranch at the time of my ten-year reunion when I was twenty-eight. Notice the nice moo-cows in the background and the beer on the hood of the pick-up truck. Doesn't quite go with the Toronto International Film Festival t-shirt I was wearing, but there you go.

My dad took this pic of me. He was the age I am right now. Good lord.

I remember asking my doctor back then for advice on gaining weight. (She said to eat more cheese).

Now, my doctor said I could stand to lose a few pounds. Fine!

I don't mind growing older. I really don't. I have it pretty good at the ripe old age of 48. Wonderful friends, good health (well, except for the few pounds), a nice job, a Tivo, etc.

A lot of my friends during the 80's and 90's didn't get to grow older. Eleven of them, in fact. That gives me a different perspective on growing older: I'm getting to do something they didn't.

Forty eight? Bring it on baby!

BTW - I won't be going to my 30-year reunion. There were only 75 people in my graduating class and I haven't remained in touch with any of them. I went to my ten- and twenty year reunions and it was fun and interesting. But really, I haven't remained in touch with anyone. Occasionally, I'll see someone from my class when I'm home visiting, we'll say 'hi' and that's about it.

Sure, it would be fun to see how old and fat everyone has become. And maybe remember the high school days when we did nothing but ride around in our parent's cars drinking Ripple while listening to Led Zeppelin on the 8-track tape player.

But I'm not going because it's going to be held outside. I'm not about to stand around outside in July in South Texas.

I'm too old for that.