Twenty Years? Really?

In my effort to clean out magazines, I read through the Spring 2011 issue of The Exeter Bulletin, my alumni magazine.  In doing so, I was confronted headfirst with…well…my age.

A big chunk of the magazine consists of class notes.  Class correspondents write little blurbs about what people are doing with their lives.  I distinctly recall graduating and, to read the notes for my class, flipping to the very last page of the class notes section.  Tonight, I had to flip twelve pages in from the last page to find the class notes for the Class of ’92.  Twelve pages.

I try to tell myself that the twelve pages shouldn’t surprise me because I’ve had on my radar that my twenty-year reunion is next year. Nineteen classes have graduated since I did.  Of course, it makes sense that there would be twelve pages worth of material about those nineteen classes.  But then I face the same issue in a different form: I can’t possibly be old enough to attend a twenty-year reunion.  Can I?

Hmph.  Apparently, I am.

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