I missed my last school reunion, 25 years I think, because both kids had some medieval stomach bug and it didn’t seem fair to spread it around. I made the one before that, the ten year anniversary, because a magazine flew me back to Brisbane to write it up. (I went with my glamorous photographer, Kate, and jeez did she get some mean stares from the wives)
There’s supposed to be another one in a couple of weeks. Forty years since graduation. I guess by fifty too many of us would be dead. I had thought I might drive up to Ipswich and maybe even stay overnight. I’ve got a couple of old mates I wanted to catch up with. But I suspect we’ll be in lockdown again by the time it rolls around.
The get together will happen at some point and I’ll make an effort to get there. The ten year gig was kind of fascinating, with the arcs of people’s lives starting to come into clear focus. One highlight was watching a couple of blokes, one a cop, the other a career criminal, manoeuvre around each other all night in a sort of heavily armed truce.
I imagine by now that a lot of the posturing and status anxiety might be behind us. Life will have truly knocked the shit out of everyone and enough of us have already passed on that the Reaper will have a seat at bar the bar just to keep an eye on his future prospects.
One thing that did surprise me, I had a look through the facebook page for the event. I didn’t even recognise most of the names.
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