alma maiter maiter dee

Today I received my collector's edition of photocopied photos from my 20-yr high school reunion. Oh sure, I told them I was dead, but when I asked for my transcripts last year they were onto me like pip on squeak. I didn't have the $60 or the inclination to attend the reunion, but I was curious and threw down the $15 donation for the commemorative booklet.

Where are all the crush-boys now? Keith Pacholl, Jere Vandewalle ... although I'm pretty certain I read somewhere that Jere had become Father Jerome. doh! He was cute as a little button. And all the boys I used to hang around with at lunch: Lionel, John, Pete Claar (who was too good for any girl -- just the sweetest, handsomest guy you ever did see and he only had eyes for Jeaneane and she treated him bad-bad). And what about Trish Bricken, the mayor's daughter? Or Therese Peffer who stole my date to the Christmas Formal?

Therese went to the reunion, but I didn't really recognize anyone else. Well ... Walter Moneypenny looked the same -- he played clarinet and would often be thrown into the trash can at the bus stop. None of the crush-boys went, and, although some of the names were familiar, I couldn't really place most of the other people. Craig Ashby? Dori Dumon? Susan Enders? Who are these people? They were in my class?

Which got me thinking ... Am I remembered? And is it only as "that girl with glasses, braces and the stupid hat who drove the old car" but otherwise completely nameless? "Oh yeah, you ... you played cymbals in the band, didn't you?" I'm sure Therese would squint and say "I stole your date? Are you sure? Aren't you Tim's sister?"

And then I didn't care.

But geez ... I never thought "Squeeb" would get married ... let alone have kids.

Crazy.