Reunited?

This weekend, my high school class will celebrate out 20th anniversary of graduation ... otherwise known as a reunion.

I will not be there.

I wrestled with the decision, but ultimately decided to pass.

Why? Well, bear with me here ... I'm going to try and state my case in a way that doesn't make me sound like a complete jerk. But, I might fail.

The town where I grew up was small, quiet, rural, overall a decent place to raise kids. But, it was also a town where everyone seemed to know everyone else. And if you didn't have the correct last name, it was hard to get ahead in athletics or, sometimes, socially.

Despite that, my high school experience was a good one ... I wasn't "cool" ... nor was I a "loser" ... but was happily tucked into the netherworld in between.

However, when college beckoned, something inside me was happy to leave, and not look back.

For some reason, I fell out of contact with most of the folks I graduated high school with, even my closest friends.

Why did this happen? Well, it seems my specific group all had big goals and big ambitions, and those seemed to come before old high school friendships.

I made new friends in college, many of whom I am close to today, then began my travels to pursue a career.

That path caused me to move several times, and any chance I had at re-connecting with high school classmates, disappeared.

It also caused a new cast of characters to enter my life ... folks I consider my closest friends right now.

Oh sure, there were random meetings with the high school gang ... maybe at an Akron bar, maybe inside a mall, but most were fleeting.

That's why, a decade ago, it didn't surprise me when my mother called, and told me I was listed as "missing" as the Class of 1989 was organizing it's 10-year reunion.

(By the way, this is how the old hometown works. I was discovered to be "missing" when my name was printed in the local, once-a-week community newspaper, read by an old neighbor, who proceeded to call my mother.)

So, I got in contact with the reunion organizers, and attended.

It was honestly nice to see some of the folks, including a couple old baseball teammates and some old friends.

But, some of my closest pals chose not to attend.

And, to top that off, the entire evening felt, well, awkward to me.

You see, in the time since high school, I had lived on a college campus that was 5 times the size of my hometown, in Illinois' second largest city, and in a pair of Ohio's largest metro areas.

I was working in the media, and was employed next to the television anchors and reporters who were beamed into local homes every night.

I had traveled extensively with friends from college and work.

And now here I was, back in the same small-town, with a group of people I didn't feel especially close to, reliving days that, while they were enjoyable, were certainly not the highlights of my life, nor anything I think about all that often.

To top it off, all of our "bios" were published in a pamphlet for other classmates to read. These included our jobs.

There was a strange feeling of "hero worship" directed towards me, because of my role as an Executive Producer. In fact, one former classmate said "Wow, you pretty much own that station don't you?"

My response was "No, you don't realize how far down the ladder I really am."

This reaction was extremely uncomfortable for me. Many of my classmates were accountants, pharmacists, architects, all very good jobs. Yet for some reason, working at a tv station made me a sensation.

When a former baseball teammate saw that I lived in a Cleveland suburb, he asked if I attended a lot of Indians games.

When I said that I made it to 6-8 a year, his jaw fell open.

And that's when it hit me in a wave. The small town feeling. My former classmates weren't used to living in the shadow of a large city. They weren't used to knowing people who worked in television. They weren't used to seeing live trucks driving around ... or a 10-minute drive to see the Cleveland Indians.

And I don't fault them for this. They're good people, living good lives. They stayed in the area of the old hometown because that's where their families still live. And there's nothing wrong with any of that.

It just wasn't for me anymore. I don't think I'm better than any other graduate, mind you, I'm just a different person, in a different place.

Flash-forward to today, and the 20-year reunion.

A decade has brought a lot of change. The Internet has allowed me (through this blog, and especially, Facebook) to reconnect with a few of the high school classmates that I was closest with.

It's the same group that did not attend the 10-year reunion, and will not be attending the 20-year, either.

These are the people I want to see, the people I want to catch up with. And if our travels allow that to happen, you can bet I will take advantage.

So, to the rest of the Class of '89 ... I wish you best on this reunion weekend.

To those attending that might have a desire to catch up, and don't think I'm a colossal jerk for writing this, drop me a line.

As for me, I'll spend the weekend looking forward to the future, instead of reliving the past.