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Twenty years, and What Do We Have To Show For It?

I, for one, have approximately 60 pounds to show for it, but that's beside the point. As a class, the class of 1986 ('86 Kix!), where are we now? We are, finally, grown-ups. We can, at last, move from table to table and person to person, visiting and reminiscing, laughing and hugging, without worrying that it will affect our social status one direction or the other. We are parents, servicemen, entrepreneurs, educators, scholars, businessmen. We are actual, full-on, honest-to-goodness adults.

We can chat with old crushes and shake hands with their wives without blushing and stuttering. We can boogie to the oldies, and know that we look like exactly what we are: uncool, unhip parents who have perfected the step-touch move. We use our cell phones in the middle of the party, not to chat with girlfriends, but to check on our children in the hotel room across the courtyard. We arrive in our minivans and reminisce about our Camaros.

Some of us are still beautiful; some of us have improved with age. Some of us have made some bad choices, and it shows on our faces. Some of us have decided to bat for the other team. Some have lost our religion; others have found it. Some have survived cancer; one has died from it. Many have served in the military; one has been killed in action. Some of us are surprisingly funny and outgoing; others come as no surprise. Some of us are party poopers who are too cool for school, or even school reunions. Some are still party animals. Some are freshly-minted party animals. Some are just animals, preferring to dangle from a tree branch for the class photo. We are all different, yet surprisingly the same.

This reunion was somehow touching; it was unexpected, but welcome. There's something to be said for going home again. And to my kindred spirit, J, who I know reads this blog: I'll be Romy to your Michelle anytime. I love you.

guest post by Denise of Aiming High

*photo via Google

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