PHOTO/COURTESY OF JIN HONG: Jin, Melissa/Missy and Jimmy at the reunion.

So I went to my 30-year high school reunion last month.

Before I talk about how that went, I want to say that this just doesn’t seem possible. I insist that I am not old enough to be going to my high school reunion. It’s unfathomable that it’s been three decades since I accepted my diploma and walked across the Lawlor Events Center stage as part of the Wooster High School class of 1993.

Yeah, yeah, I know the math checks out. I don’t want to hear it.

Anyway … when I first saw the reunion announcement on Facebook several months ago, I immediately decided to go. It seemed like it’d be fun to have a cocktail and do some reminiscing. The reunion itself was simple enough—a no-cover evening event at a brewery. Sure, why not?

But as the reunion date approached, I began having second thoughts.

Three decades is a long time—one-third of a human lifetime (assuming things go well). Obviously, we’ve all changed—and Reno has certainly changed. For those of us in the class of 1993, Wooster was the southernmost high school in the Truckee Meadows; students as far south as Washoe Valley were bused up all the way to Plumb Lane. Back then, the freeway ended at South Virginia Street, near the pink Scolari’s, and there was almost nothing in the swampy fields east of Virginia Street and south of what is now South Meadows Parkway. It was during our senior year when Galena High School opened for freshmen, sophomores and juniors.

When we graduated, Bill Clinton was in the first months of his presidency. “That’s the Way Love Goes” by Janet Jackson was the No. 1 song. This newspaper didn’t even exist yet; the first Nevada Weekly hit the streets in November 1993.

So, yeah … I hadn’t seen most of the people who were going to be at that reunion since that was our world. Awkwardness was inevitable. Plus, I discovered that the brewery where the reunion was going to be held doesn’t even have bourbon, just beer. Unacceptable.

Of course, I wound up going to the reunion. When the hubby and I walked into Imbib Brewery on Second Street several minutes after the 7 p.m. Saturday start time, I was apprehensive. I made a beeline for one of the few truly familiar faces, that being the face of Missy, a friend I’ve kept in touch with for most of the last 30 years, if not the last several. (Damned pandemic.) We chatted for a bit; I grabbed a beer (thanks, Nick, for buying!); and I began to mingle.

And much to my surprise, I started enjoying myself.

I had a lovely chat about the supply chain with Jin, who’s now something of a bigwig at Google. I had a great conversation with Trent, my former elementary school best friend (and distant cousin, several times removed). I learned about life in Antarctica via Amy, who has the distinction of being the first person to ever have COVID-19 at the South Pole. I made tentative plans to get together with Missy later this summer.

We left well before the scheduled end time, because we had an early morning flight—and I was actually a little sad that we had to leave early.

Nicolette, the classmate who organized the gathering, later commented on social media that we’d definitely reconvene in five years for our 35th. The lord willing, I’ll be there—although as much as I love Imbib, I’ll request that we have it at a venue that serves bourbon.

Jimmy Boegle is the publisher and executive editor of the Reno News & Review. He is also the founding editor and publisher of the Coachella Valley Independent in Palm Springs, Calif. A native of Reno,...

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