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The Anderson Files — Reunion(s) Edition
A little over two years ago, I attended a class reunion. Not my class, but as a ‘plus one,’ for a person in that class. It turned out, there were a few from my class there, including a guy we still, to this day, call ‘Jimmy.’
Some of the people I knew well, others, not so much. They were seniors when I was a junior at my (mostly*) lily-white high school, where I started 44 years ago as a sophomore.
(*I say ‘mostly’, because although there were no blacks there, we did have Armenians and Arabic students in the school)
My ‘plus one’, a lovely lady named Tracey, spent more time with her old girlfriends than with me, but I didn’t mind. It was held at a bar in the suburb that I spent my high school and early college years in.
For a class of 800–850, it was a sparsely attended affair, but fun nonetheless. That class made up the bulk of a juggernaut of a football team, going 9–0, but missing the then-new state playoffs (four teams in each class), by an absurd three-one-thousands of a point.
(Years later, I heard, from a former player who played on a rival team who said they lost their last two games to keep my…
