Nana Pam

Nana Pam recently attended her high school class reunion in her home town where she met quite a few former classmates. I tried to get her to wear an Arcadia Valley Tigers tee shirt, but she refused to consider it. After this reunion, she began to earnestly log into “facebook” and communicate with her old friends.

I don’t have a “facebook” account, and it’s probably just as well. I do my own “communicating” writing in this blog and I can keep it a “one-sided” communication. This permits me to speak (or write) my own mind without the annoying critique that would surely come from a “certain someone” in Lenexa, KS. I don’t really expect anyone else to even want to comment on this drivel and besides, I’m quite sensitive and might get my feelings hurt if someone was to post a comment that is moderately critical of my writing style or if they found a typo or grammatical error or factual inconsistency.

But, I digress.

Nana Pam has been in touch with some old friends from high school via “facebook”. Some of those “old friends” have turned out to be very successful people, such as doctors and lawyers and Indian chiefs and whatnot. Some of her “guy” friends could have ended up being married to Nana Pam if they had played their cards right. But, as it turned out, it is I, a hillbilly from Nowhere, MO, who raided Raider country and stole away the diamond within their midst.

Now, please understand, I’m not gloating, and after three and a half decades I don’t mean to sound like I’m reliving some high school rivalries, but I do feel like I can brag a bit.

Actually, maybe it’s not so surprising that Pam fell in love with me when she did. After all, I was a fairly good looking guy – at least as good looking as any guy in North County High School. And I was a pretty good student - I could add and subtract with the best of them, and if really pressed could probably still do it. And even though I never played sports, I was really pretty athletic, mostly from the necessity of evading bullies and other female ruffians in my hometown.

But, considering the notability of Pam’s former classmates and listening to her talk about their accomplishments has recently made me wonder just what it was she saw in me. Perhaps I will never know. As we’ve grown older and wiser, Pam’s standards have changed and she now sees something completely different in me and obviously still loves me for who I am.

And that thought really confuses me, because truthfully I can’t say that I’ve improved. The only thing about me that hasn’t changed since high school is my height – I haven’t grown an inch since the eighth grade. But, I have gained weight. And I have lost some hair (– OK, so I’ve lost a lot of hair). And I now wear bifocals. And I have to wear suspenders to keep my pants up. And my idea of a good “date night” is taking Pam to the local Farm and Feed store where they serve free popcorn to entice the customers.

I can see what she saw in me then, but I can not for the life of me see what she sees in me now.

And me being me, I am not discouraged by this realization. Rather, I feel a heightened sense of contentment within my weary soul. What I mean is this: It’s safe to assume that the standards of a normal person will rise with greater wisdom and experience as a result of normal aging. Thus, Pam’s standards must be higher now than when she was in high school. So, if her standards have risen, and she still wants me around, then either she’s currently suffering from an acute mental incapacity for rational judgment . . . OR . . . I must be doing something right.

And far be it from me to accuse Pam of mental incapacity.

At least not in a public forum.