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.