The Postscript: Sepia-toned teenagers

“I don’t remember you at all!” the portly man informed my husband, Peter.

Peter smiled, introduced himself, and reminded the gentleman where they might have met half a century ago.

The man shook his head. “Nope!”

This was the first high school class reunion I had ever attended, and it was filled with moments like that.

I have never gone to my own class reunions. I’m not sure why. I was busy. I lived far away. I never knew more than a tiny fraction of the students in my class. I wasn’t all that happy in high school and didn’t think of high school as the best three years o...