Tartan High School class of 1992. Holy crap are we getting old. We had our twenty-year reunion last night which meant first and foremost that Ali and I were going out without the kids. Yeah, big deal. What we both would have probably really enjoyed doing with those few hours is to go to a hotel, take all our clothes off, crawl into bed, and go straight to sleep.

But instead we went to our reunion, which we’ve been looking forward to for months. I always feel bad for those people who hated high school and wouldn’t dream of going to a reunion. We both loved high school. In our minds it was nothing but good times. Schoolwork was laughably easy, friends were plenty, weekdays were filled with sports, and weekends were non-stop parties. All we remember is four years of that. So going to a reunion is great fun. We get to see friends we haven’t seen in years and relive some of the memory highlight reels.

Even better is the fact that our lives have continued on that upward trajectory of good times, so that we don’t have to relive the 18 year-old days with a beer in both hands and a tear in our eye. There’s none of that, “Those were the best years of my life,” moments.

Part of the fun of seeing all of our old friends is that Ali and I were together when we were sixteen. Junior year. So her friends are my friends, mine are hers, and all of our stories are intertwined in one way or another. If I could go back and live it all again, without changing a thing, I would do it, start to finish. From the day I turned sixteen until today, there isn’t a moment I wouldn’t relive. So Ali, thanks for all the fun in high school the first time around, and thanks for going back with me last night.

Jesus Christ, I can’t believe I’m a parent to a boy and a girl. Look at the two of us. We were just itching to get out of there and cause trouble. This was about two months after we started dating, right before turning seventeen, and we were on our way to our first semi-formal dance together. For those that want to call my hair a mullet, let it be known that in those days, in Minnesota, that was known as hockey hair. Thank you very much. As for Ali, all we can say is sorry ozone layer.

And here we stand twenty-two years later. Older, wiser, same bodies, same head of hair, different wrinkles; the same streak of trouble.

As for those glory days, all I can say is that it was probably a good thing they took place pre-iPhone camera days.