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Avia S-199 in Israeli Air Force Service

High-school reunion

Saturday, three enterprising women with whom I graduated high school 25 years and three months ago hosted a reunion of our class. I’m not sure exactly how many we were back in 1983, but the mean of the estimates I heard over the evening average is 91. Of that 91, about two thirds showed up Saturday night (plus Bram, who spent the last three years of high school in another school but is nonetheless one of us).

Our group was not a typical high-school class – the number of students is an immediate clue. Bialik was a small school. Another atypical characteristic is that we’re all Jews. Bialik is a Jewish school. You’ve seen one of us reporting for CTV (scroll down to Sherwin) and another in the endless Lasik MD ads in the Gazette. And I blog.

We had cliques here and there and some students were outsiders, but for the most part we were unified, especially the boys. A subset of the boys continue to play hockey together twice a year. Classmates came from San Diego, Florida, and Amsterdam for our get-together. Is it odd that our grade produced no intra-class marriages? I don’t think so, not for the size of our class and for our youth compared to everywhere else in North America (we in Quebec graduate high school in grade 11).

Most of us look about the same, if you overlook changes in style and amount of hair. I did not recognize only two people, both of whom grew up within two blocks of me (Elana and Randi).

The evening could not have gone better. Even the music worked. I picked up conversations with people as if we’d last seen each other last week. Jason, my old wargaming buddy, and I talked about wargaming, and how our sons seem to have inherited that same interest. I spoke more with some people than I had throughout the entire five years at Bialik. This may surprise you, but I can a bit introverted, often for decades at a time. The open bar helped.

The party took place in a room any bar would envy, a party room called Le Loft in St. Laurent. That preposition is important; the place was in St. Laurent, not on St. Laurent. Cutting edge inside, it was located east of the airport in the heart of the industrial nowhere land. Once the party closed at 1:00 a.m., a dozen of us decided to go get pizza at Tasty Foods, but that was closed so we crossed Decarie and went to Harvey’s.

I got to bed at 3:00 – and woke up at 7:30 because our alumni hockey game was scheduled for 9:00 out in the West Island. I did not feel like playing at all, but I swallowed some ibuprofen and survived by pacing myself. I felt better after the game than I did before.

The reunion weekend had one last event to go, so I showered at the arena and headed to Tiffany’s for breakfast. (It’s your typical breakfast place – think Chez Cora with a menu expanded to less breakfasty fare.) The group I’d been led to believe I would be meeting was nowhere in sight and the place was crowded, so I went home. As I walked in the door, Bram called me – the group was gathering. I dumped my hockey equipment and headed back.

Breakfast was as entertaining as the evening before, more of the same – but without an open bar, I wasn’t as talkative. We spent nearly three hours at the table and upon leaving, I rushed home to ready Child Three for a 90-minute hockey practice. He needs a refresher in goaltending technique, but I was in no condition to take to the ice.

I fell asleep at 7:00 p.m. last night, woke at 2:00 a.m., fell asleep again at 4:30 and woke for good at 10:30 a.m. I feel human, even without an open bar.

Bonus wishes:

Happy New year y’all!

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