Who are you?

Who Are You?

On Jeopardy the answer would be, “What was the most asked question at the Shelby (Ohio) High School 50th class reunion?”

After mysterious people introduced themselves to other mysterious people, hugs and warm handshakes ensued. The experience was fun and heartwarming, but often baffling. Some of the people who hugged me had never spoken to me during our four years of high school. Others had spoken to me only when required by courtesy.

Even so, the meet and greet and the reunion dinner were fun. Some women still have shapely bodies and lovely faces. Some men are still as handsome as they used to be, albeit with gray or no hair. Some men look every minute of their 68 years. No woman has passed 25.

I found myself walking up to both men and women and introducing myself, something I would have been afraid to do in high school. My most amazing adventure was speaking to the Class Hunk. Back in high school all the girls adored him, even though we knew that he was not aware of our existence.

I approached this tall, slim, retired judge whose white hair did not age him, but added a patina of sophistication. Knowing exactly who he was, I asked, “Are you ____ ____?”

“Yes, who are you?” I told him, knowing my name would mean nothing to him. Then I said that I had read about some of his decisions in the newspaper.

Shocked, he asked, “What newspaper?”

“The Daily Press.”

After a moment he made the connection and replied, “I went to law school at William and Mary and liked the area, so decided to stay there.”

Grinning, I asked if he had taken any classes from George Wythe (W&M’s first law professor and Thomas Jefferson’s mentor.)
He asked me to repeat the name. I did and spelled it out. Then he caught the joke and responded that he wasn’t able to take any of his classes. We laughed, bid each other farewell and never spoke again.

Then we faced the real test of our age – dancing to the oldies. A few remembered the steps, most of us pretended we did. Some pooped out after a few dances. Our bodies couldn’t rock all night like they did in high school. Couples still slow-danced the same way they did at prom, steps that seemed unique to our school; at least I never saw those steps at any other dances I attended over the years.

Learning that after 50 years the class VIPs are just regular people was worth the trip across three states. The measuring stick for who is “in” and who is “out” is gone for good. We’re all adults, first year baby-boomers, who still like to play. And play we did. You should see the “dress up” photos. We picked outrageous costumes and posed dramatically. The results were hilarious.

Several of us began leaving about 10 p.m., a travesty in 1964, but necessity in 2014. We went to bed and dreamed of being 18 again.

© by Sharon Dillon, August 12, 2014