A massive reunion of old farts is happening this weekend in Reston Virginia, home to hundreds of us who grew up awkwardly but mostly happily in the 60s and 70s, in various states of consciousness. We’re all 50-somethings now and while the reunion is a great concept, it’s rife with degrees of anxiety.
First of all, I remember when I used to travel light. Not anymore. I will be attending the reunion with my girlfriend, Millie; my son, Charlie and Suki The Dog (turns out the Reston Sheraton accepts pets). My own friggin’ posse, for Christ’s sake.
Here are the questions and encounters I most fear:
So how you been?
This puts you in a position of sorting through 25 years of memories and life events and is not possible to answer honestly in less than three and a half hours.
Have you met your son, Levon?
You know, I remember that it might once have been cool to name your son after an Elton John song, but I don’t remember this particular kid. This can’t really be my son, right? Cute little fella (he’s now 34 and weighs 280 pounds). Funny! Ha ha! Buh-bye, now.
Remember that night on the 16th fairway of the North golf course?
This is when my girlfriend, Millie, shoots me a look full of daggers and I clear my throat repeatedly, hoping it drowns out the description of the actual event that occurred on the 16th fairway of the North golf course. Suffice to say nothing really good happens on a golf course late at night. Well, ok, it was good…then.
Remember when you drove your car ON the plaza early one morning?
This is when I check my calendar quickly and do some fast arithmetic to come up with the exact day the statute of limitations might have expired. It’s no longer acceptable to drive your car drunk on an actual sidewalk as I understand it, but for those remembering the alleged incident- it is, apparently, completely hysterical.
Remember the time we did mushrooms and jammed all night?
This is when my 19 year-old son, Charlie, shoots me a bemused look and I clear my throat repeatedly hoping it drowns out the description of what may have been ingested that night so long ago. I later point out to my posse how yummy Portobello mushrooms are nestled in a bed of lettuce and a creamy wine sauce.
Yes, the possibilities are endless. I may or may not report back.