The Right to Reunite

Just to wrap up this 40th high school reunion business, I did go to Fresno, California for my 40th over the weekend.

It is true that as you might expect there were a few people who did not make the reunion because they did not survive to age fifty-eight. Sad, but that's the way it goes.

But I am happy to report that the Fresno High class of 1964 looked pretty good and seemed to be in fine humor and a high state of curiosity about what became of all their classmates. They looked happy and prosperous, rich in experience and grandchildren.

I was glad to see them. But this was one of those moment when you have to face up to the fact that time marches on very, very quickly.

This was the last reunion before we are all 60 and, if I stick to my habit of attending these things every 20 years, we'll all be near 80 before I go again. I might just have to go sooner: Betting that there will be a bunch of us left nearing 80 is probably pushing Lady Luck a little too hard.

Somebody sent me an e-mail saying I shouldn't worry about that stuff; that I'm being morbid.

I don't think so.

Most of the time I never think of the years flying by. But this is one of those occasions when you're forced to face it and it's good because it makes you stop and remember how valuable each and every day is.

OK, enough: I'm not going to talk about it anymore. I promise.

That's My Word.

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