WHEN I'M 65

I hadn’t been to one of my high school reunions in 35 years. I went to the 10^th reunion because I was still single and figured this was a chance to see the first love of my life again. Phoebe and I never went out. I’m not even sure if she knew my name, but I remember how quiet and innocent she was. It was good to visit with her at the party and I enjoyed seeing photos of her 12-year old son.

I didn’t go to the 25^th reunion because I was sure it would just be a lot of people trying to impress each other with how successful they were and how good they looked. I was not interested in being inundated with that much narcissism, plus the reunion was the same week as my hair transplant procedure.

Not sure why I didn’t go to my 40^th, but based on a DVD someone sent me of the fun everyone had at the open bar, I doubt anyone will remember if they were there.

The 50^th reunion isn’t for a few years, so I was a little surprised when I received a recent phone call. “Dick, this is Nick Carino, president of the Class of ‘65. How have you been these past 37 years?”

“Fine, thanks. ’94 was a bummer, but…what’s up?”

“Well, the committee has come up with an incredible idea. We don’t want to wait until 2015 to get together, because we realized that all of us in the class of ’65 turn 65 this year, so this calls for a special celebration.”

“Wait a second”, I said. “What’s so unique about that?  Didn’t the class of ‘64 turn 64 two years ago? Won’t the class of ‘68 turn 68 at some point?”  There was dead silence. Apparently Nick Carino, a PhD in civil engineering and proud recipient of the National High School Science Award, had not realized this. He continued, “We just think 65 is a special age.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, Dick. Maybe because we will all be on Medicare.  We’d like you to do a stand-up comedy bit at the hotel.  The committee suggested a routine about getting older—maybe with some arthritis and gout jokes.  But no type 2 diabetes or heart disease references. Let’s keep it light.”

“You know, Nick, I just don’t think that’s a good idea. Many of us 65-year-olds are still working and are in great shape. And I’ve heard a rumor that a few are still sexually active.”

“None of that is funny, Dick. I thought you were a professional humorist.  Is this the same Dick Wolfsie who wrote on his history final that Joan of Arc went to war while her husband Noah stayed home to patch up his boat?”

“Okay, I’ll think about it. What else do I need to know?”

“The entire event is based on the number 65. We graduated in 65; most of us are 65; we’re going to raffle off a 1965 Mustang, and the first 65 people who show up get a free photo of either David Letterman, David Bowie or Ted Danson, all 65 years old this year. How cool is that?

“How much will this shindig cost?”

“The hotel gave us a great deal: dinner and drinks for $64.95.”

“Why don’t you make it 65 dollars to keep with the theme?”

“Never dawned on me.  I’ll run it by the committee. By the way, Dick, I’ll be in Chicago for work next week. I could drive down to Indy if you’re free.  Which interstate is it?

“Oh, Nick. I’m about to make your day.