Twenty Years

A couple weeks ago I received an e-mail reminding me that my 20-year high school reunion was approaching.

After groaning at the reminder of passing time, I immediately cruised the list of 1987 Wissahickon graduates who had also received the now-attorney's nettlesome dispatch.

I remembered some of the names. I was still friends with a couple. One or two revived happy memories.

For the most part, though, I was unable to pull up faces.

I remembered one boy I liked in 10th grade. I vaguely recalled being mean to one girl in my junior year. (Sorry for that, Karen.)

But I couldn't remember the bad things.

I didn't recall who was popular, who was a dweeb, who was a jock, who was a prep. Back then, those labels were often all that mattered. I don't remember ever having a "Breakfast Club" moment where I bonded with my peers regardless of their place in in the high-school caste system.

I do remember making some stupid mistakes. I was a kid, and 14 and 15 were particularly difficult years for me. Everything seemed so BIG and important.

Except for the things that were...

Peace.