I don’t know how it happened… but after 20 straight days of annoying the complete hell out of everyone and making a mess of their Facebook Walls with my inane, rambling reasons for why you should come out for that 20 Year reunion (as if anyone needed an excuse to drink) – anyway, somehow I made it the whole night without getting punched square in the nuts. And I practically begged for it!!! Someone did grab my ass though. Oh well, it’s the little things. So, I’d call that a minor victory for me.

One that pales in comparison to the mammoth success story Stacy Shalno and Kristin Delvental conjured up for our big time 20 Year High School Reunion. Seriously, is there anyone waking this morning who didn’t have a good time? Hell, is there anyone waking up this morning in the right house?!?!? No! Well, there you have it. The proverbial “GREAT TIME HAD BY ALL!!!”

Now, I kid myself for those Top 20 Reasons I mentioned above. I got called the King of Facebook by a few people Friday night. That’s what I get for jumping on once a day and trying to eek out a laugh. Also, writing that title on my Name Tag sort of helped sway the vote. But, there’s a method to this madness.

See, I wrote those begging and pleading ‘reasons to attend’ with a little perspective. After all, I was a fairly shy guy back in the day. Had zero game. No fashion sense. A horrific Dep-drenched spiky mullet that shot to the heavens as if daring the ozone hole to close. Awkward with the ladies. No honors to speak of – just a healthy smattering of B’s which let me coast through those topsy-turvy four years.

All that “glory” – and still, I secretly loved high school. Sure, there was a caste system – we had our very own Breakfast Club with The Jock, The Brain, The Princess, The Criminal and The Kook; as I’m sure all others schools did back then. If you weren’t holding that title or in the running with a decent candidacy then you joined ranks with the Freaks and Geeks. After all, it was the mid-80’s, if we weren’t watching a John Hughes flick we were aiming to ape it in our own hallowed halls. As a shy guy I kept to the fringes, always feeling like I was looking in but certainly enjoying the view.

Somewhere around my Junior Year, I started to bust free from my shell. I throw credit to Jay Bain with that as I worked side-by-side with him at Papa Gino’s and you couldn’t help but be loud and outgoing when working alongside that free spirit. Of course, I’ve got to credit myself too – or at least give myself a pat on the back for finally growing a pair and showing the world who I really am (although, if you’re Brett Favre, maybe you hold back a bit).

I think by our Senior Year, those class system lines had evaporated. At that time, we were all staring down the brave new world and suddenly we looked around – at the kids we once sat next to in Library School or filed into Frenchy’s alongside to score a day’s nourishing supply of Now & Laters – and we realized that no matter which lane we traveled in during our later public school education – that we are all cut from the same cloth. As we burst forth, no matter how scary the wild, wild world would get – we could always toss a glance back and eat heartily of that comfort food that only blissful childhood memory can provide. And I think it was that knowledge, which tattooed itself to memory as we stood ready to take on higher education, or practice a trade or defend our great land at such a tender, young age – that’s what brought us all together in the end.

And some of us stayed rooted in Rockland and others traveled long, winding roads that took us anywhere but there. Me – I lived in 10 towns in 10 years in the Nineties. I was a one man Witness Relocation Plan. My family – whom had divorced when I was just a freshman in High School – relocated when I first headed off to college. On my first return trip for Thanksgiving Break, my Dad took the South Weymouth off ramp instead of heading further South to the Rockland/Norwell exit. This was my new town and from that point, I never re-entered Rock Vegas for any real stretch of time.

And then as the years flew and more and more friends entered the equation, it just became harder and harder to track down all those fine souls that from time to time would dance across your psyche. “Whatever happened to…” was a question asked with declining frequency.

Fortunately, Al Gore invented the Internet and with that, he brought us all back from the brink. Two years ago, I joined Facebook seemingly on the same day as everyone else. And as each blast from the past resurfaced I realized that what once was lost had now been found and reaching out and touching those people was suddenly the easiest thing in the world. No longer would I have to dream of sexting Jim O’Connor. Now I could just do it… and get away with it!!! Or at least I would have had it not been for you meddling kids.

But seriously, a few years back I wrote a piece on my website which I called ‘The Impossible Dream’ – until the Yawkey Trust came gunning with a Cease & Desist order. Anyway, the point is, I waxed rhapsodically about how I wished there was this one neighborhood (the world’s most kick-ass cul-de-sac) where every great person you ever had the pleasure of making an acquaintance didn’t have to mosey on out of your life. It’s the Impossible Dream where all of them – former classmates, friends, family, professional escorts– every single one of them held real estate on that tract of suburban bliss. That we never had to go years (and sometimes decades) without seeing them. And while it sounds great, it is that Impossible Dream. Something to pine wistfully for but something that’s never gonna’ happen. Life is just too busy. Too crazy. To hectic and chaotic.

But it’s nice to know that no matter how much time passes – every once in awhile we can grab hold of the Impossible and make it a reality – even for the briefest of moments. I thought that at the 10 year and I’m absolutely genuflecting before the altar now that we’ve had a 20th which was hands down one of my favorite nights in a pretty damn good life.

There is something that binds us and it’s not just the allure of Mike Bean in his letter jacket. Although, that does have it’s charms. Certainly after six or several Coronas.

The older we get, the more we want to recapture youth. And there’s no better way to do that than to remember what we were like when we were young and the greatest concern we had was whether Poison’s ‘Talk Dirty to Me‘ was gonna’ make the Top 5 MTV Video Countdown each afternoon.

In the lead up to this year’s reunion, I posted a little piece where I implored people to go. To leave whatever silly hang-ups you had in high school relegated to the foggiest reaches of memory. Let those things die on the vine and do a little interior decorating of the mind with some new shiny, happy memories.

A year ago, when a group of about 45 of us got together in the North End, we tested my theory and found it held water. Most people I talked to said that before they darkened that doorway, they took a moment’s pause. What would they expect on the other side of the doorway? And then, to a person, everyone reported that any last second jitters were dashed aside the second the hugs poured forth on pace with the fine cervezas we chug-a-lugged all night. And it was at that point, that the 45 of us made a pact. Let’s not let so much time pass again. Certainly not when we’re having this much fun.

Turns out that even though we may not have all been BFFs back in High School, there was something intangible that bound us close to each other – without any of us ever really knowing it. And life’s too short not to take hold of that and cherish it – TO CELEBRATE IT – even if it’s one night out of 365.

What began with modest success last Fall erupted into a full on explosion of good cheer last night. I spent the night talking to Keith Wiggin while thinking I was chatting up George Anderson, and vice versa. I grabbed Steve Johnson’s head about 5 times too many and still didn’t get punched in the nuts. I may have inadvertently married Chip Leonard. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. My sore throat this afternoon is testament to the fantastic time I had. And no doubt, all of my great memories are equaled and eclipsed by the ones you forged.

About two weeks ago, I shot Kurt Remlinger a message; looking to see if he and his kick-ass band Loco Locals could play Green Day’s “Time of Your Life” as last song in tribute to our class. “Two weeks notice!”, he replied. “F@#k no – That’s impossible!!!” I may be paraphrasing a bit.

Well, Kurt and company did the impossible and sent us out on an epic high with the perfect song as soundtrack to what we were all feeling.

In fact, a potent seed was planted Friday night. While it’s nigh impossible to get us all back together with any sort of regular frequency, why not have an unofficial, casual reunion at least once a year? We pick a date. We pick a bar. And then whoever shows – shows!!! We save the elaborately choreographed main event for the big ones (the 5’s and 10’s) but we mark each calendar year by stepping back into each others lives for just the briefest of moments – to remind ourselves what a great group of people we’ve become and how we could have seen this coming way back when – had we only the ability to read the signs.

I’ll take the lead and make sure it happens next year. Who’s with me?

But that’s for later. About last night…

It was something unpredictable but in the end was right. I hope you had the time of your life.