I’m normally not a reunion sort of guy, but this year I will attend my 50th high school reunion.

It’s been 20 years since I’ve been to one, largely due to work obligations, but the truth is reunions make me a little uncomfortable, so when I can’t attend one I feel a slight sense of relief.

Please don’t misunderstand, I love the people I’ve encountered in life. Well, most of them.

There are a few I don’t need to see again.

The guy in my second grade class who pulled me out of my classroom seat and tried to beat me to a pulp while the teacher was out of the room is one. She walked back in the room while he had me in a headlock on the floor, and we both received equal punishment for fighting. I wasn’t fighting. I was just trying to get the big oaf off of me.

Truth is, I avoid most reunions for fear that I will encounter someone I should remember but don’t. I’m the forgetful sort and even if we were close in high school, there’s the chance I might call you by the wrong name.

I encounter those people all the time. I’m dining in a restaurant and someone who looks vaguely familiar will walk over to the table and start up a conversation about something I should remember but don’t. It happens with former classmates all the time.

“I’ll never forget that time you put a trash can on your head and walked through the hallways.

Remember, I helped you get it off your head!”

“Ah yes, I meant to thank you for that”, whoever you are. I don’t want to tell them I remember the trash can more than I remember them.

Yes, it’s embarrassing. But we’ve all changed and we’ve all had a zillion life experiences since then. Plus, the storage room in my brain has gotten a little dusty.

Still, I will summon my courage and head to my 50th high school reunion in September. I will talk with former classmates and reminisce. I will also smile and listen a lot just in case I’ve swiss-cheesed your memory with someone else.

I will reunite with girls who turned me down for a date to the homecoming dance, guys who played trumpet beside me in the high school band and emptied their spit valve on my shoe, and maybe even a teacher or two who was just beginning their career back in good ol’ ‘73.

I might even encounter that guy who tussled with me on the floor in 2nd grade, and I’ll pour hot sauce in his ice tea.

I’ll enjoy some good food and bask in some good memories, maybe not mine but someone else’s. And then I’ll head straight back to good ol’ 2023 where I have at least some idea of what’s going on.

I’ll also write about it here. So classmates, be kind.