"Seniors '69. I finally lettered." Part 1 (reading time 1:22)

I am a textbook introvert; there, it’s out there now. How do I know?

• I love facilitating catalytic vision casting with high impact leaders; it drains all my energy - I retreat to my sanctuary(ies) to recharge my batteries;
• I know how to work the room when I am in “the mode”; I resist parties, mix & mingles (what are those all about anyway? Sounds like a snack food.), casual get-togethers and such;
• I prefer walks with Bentley (THE dog) to most activities with people (the Saturday group of lake misfits are the exception – you know who you are);
• I cycle alone and love it;
• I don’t much pursue the “Hey, let’s do dinner or go to the sports bar while you’re in town” thing.

So, my decision to attend the Hillcrest High School (Go Panthers!) Seniors ’69 reunion in Dallas the other night took every bit of courage and an extra dose of meds. 178 people attending; people I had known since grade school; all the cool people, from jocks to drill team to Most Likely to This & That; most of the people who knew me (not always by name), knew me as the fat, funny guy who played clarinet in the marching and symphony band. My family moved me to New York City at the end of my sophomore year and I had almost entirely lost connection with the HHS chapter of my life. Having ignored the prior reunions I decided, “What the heck, I’ll give it a shot, if for no other reason than to see if anyone would even know who I was, considering I now looked NOTHING like the fat, funny guy who played clarinet in the marching and symphony band.

Some context is warranted here:

• I was fat (regardless of mom’s loving exhortations about my every increasing big bone mass metamorphosis);
• My brother (four years older) was Mr. Everything, basketball star, stud and generally-specifically-overall-amazingly-cool-gorgeous-popular guy. He was a tough act to follow;
• I was a clarinet player in the band, sweated profusely whenever I marched…well, I sweated most anytime;
• My band uniform pants were too tight, so I had to hold them together at the top with a safety pin;
• I was a comic, which made me feel like I was cool and that I had lots of friends. I didn’t;
• My best guy friend was Steve Weinstein. He was cool and we were tight pals (we called each other Podz, even though we had no idea what it meant);
• My best girl friend was Joyce Szor. We became best pals (my strategy for avoiding possible rejection, considering she was so beautiful) and spent countless hours on the phone talking late into the night);
• I was lonely a lot.

But, I was soon to find out that everything had changed in the last forty years; and that everything was still the same.

For emphasis.
(b)