I'll take the DeLorean...and add a flux capacitor with a side of regrets.

My 40th year since graduating from high school is this year. More later on my acrimonious thoughts about the ambiguity of my time in high school. Evidently, there will be a reunion in October.

1967 was a decent year...music-wise. Regarding myself...it pretty much sucked. Radio stations KHJ, KRLA, and KFWB were blasting incredibly indelible tunes over the Los Angeles basin, competing for the number one spot in radio ratings. Yes, it was A.M. radio that still dominated the airwaves back then. Light My Fire by the Doors was the overwhelming number one song, the short version being played every 15 minutes or so. I was seventeen.

The Summer of ‘67 was hot in the San Fernando Valley (as per usual), I had just graduated from high school and was working at the college creamery, driving to work at 4:00 a.m. in my 1961 MGA Roadster (a graduation present from my parents). I was supposed to be going to a couple of summer school courses, but rarely made it to class. I simply smelled too much like milk and sweat to sit in class after processing dairy products for six hours. And, I hated school...still. Not staying in college: another regret that might be remedied if I had a flux capacitor and a DeLorean. Unlikely I will discover the flux capacitor, find a cheap DeLorean, or not make the same mistakes again. But, it still provides me hours of daydreaming excitement hypothesizing the possibilities of going back in time. If I could...I would start with the 10th grade.

Being fourteen going on fifteen is pure geek time for most of us. Some teen boys are already perfectly proportioned physically, have easily coiffed hair, and can run the 100 yard dash in ten seconds. Many of them can actually carry on conversations with pretty girls without hyper-ventilating or slobbering on themselves by then. Their clothes fit just right, their teeth are straight, and they get good grades with seemingly effortless abandon...or so I thought. This wasn’t me. But, I was naive enough to believe that they didn’t study because they told me so. In reality, most of them did study but thought it was cool to get A’s and B’s without cracking a book. In hindsight, not very likely. So, yes, if I could borrow Doc Brown's machine, I would go back and study more. Check that...I would go back and study...period. Would it make a difference regarding where I am now, what I am doing at this point? Or would I simply have different memories of high school, college, and beyond? Would I still be sitting here writing this blog entry?

My daughter Jenifer’s 10th year reunion is this year. She plans on going. I didn’t make it to my 10th. But I did go to my 20th and my 35th. It looks like I will be attending the 40th in October. Am I excited to go? Not really. Am I looking forward to meeting up with my two best friends of 40+ years? Of course. Bob, Gary, and I will get together in L.A. for our own mini-reunion again (we did last summer). The high school reunion is secondary, just an excuse for us to meet up. Like I said, high school for me was an ambiguous time...exciting and disappointing. Though nothing tragic or earth-shatteringly grotesque happened to me, I just don’t have fond memories of this period...at least not while I was actually in school. Oh, I had plenty of fun away from school, don’t get me wrong!

The impending 40th reunion may end up being somewhat scaled down from the 35th, which was smaller than the 20th. As the years pass, interest wanes for some people concerning these things. Less and less people show up. Sure, at our age, some classmates have moved on to that big pep rally in the sky. But most of us are still alive and kicking. They just don’t want to be subjected to the same cruel people and unpleasant memories they experienced in high school. Let’s face it...not everyone was on the Steering Committee or in Student Government or Drama Class. Most of us didn’t run for Student Body President or play on the varsity football team or date a cheerleader named Katie. Our 20th and 35th reunions looked much like a Friday night dance during high school. Many of the same people who hung out together back in 1967 hung out together at the reunions. Hell, Bob, Gary, and I did then, and did the same at the reunions. At least we had each other for support.

We three will stand on the sidelines and try to pick out recognizable faces. After forty years, that process is harder than you think. Some people age better than others and look like you imagined. Others don’t age gracefully, and it’s difficult picking 18 year old faces out of a crowd of 58 year old baby boomers. Time and life takes their toll when those forty years are compressed into what seems to be just a few minutes.

And the cruel parts? Five years ago, at our 35th, a couple of old bags went around to the tables near the end and stared into everyone’s faces, alternately glancing at the buttons with pictures of us from our high school year book. They would then shake their heads and proclaim, “Nah...don’t recognize you!” My calculated response was, “Same here. And who the hell are you?”

Some things just never change. And a DeLorean with a flux capacitor would probably not make a bit of difference.