Last weekend, I drove up to Nashville, Tennessee for my high school’s 20-year reunion, because I graduated in 1993, and it’s now 2013, and I’m told that means I’ve been out of high school for 20 years (but I’m still very young).  At my 10 year reunion, I’d just flown back from a 6-month trip to Iraq.  I stayed at my parents’ house, and lots of people asked about what I was doing and how the adventure in Iraq had gone.

This time, I stayed in a hotel (after meeting my parents at the South Pittsburg Wendy’s off I-24 to jettison 3 tiny children), and no one asked what I was doing or if I’ve been on any adventures, because I have 1705 Facebook friends (and my graduating class was only about 300 kids).

On the Friday night preceding the reunion, my friend Glenn hosted a Halloween party, so I got to put my lederhosen back on and enjoy some moonshine I still had left from the Lionel Richie concert a few weeks ago.

We rode with my friends Jody and Sally, and we arrived at the party about 1.5 hours after it began.

A couple friends dressed like their high school selves, which was especially well-received.

I was particularly happy to see Chad in his wrestling garb (we were co-captains of the team my senior year).

Details are a bit hazy, but at some point around midnight, I might have decided that jumping over the 5′ bonfire flames would be a great way to spend a few seconds.  Some folks encouraged this idea, while other folks discouraged it (like, for example, my bride).  I weighed the conflicting opinions, along with my feelings of invincibility at the time, and jumping through the fire won as the best option, so I launched myself through the flames.

A few seconds later, the party host decided he must show the guests that I was not the only 38-year-old HHS graduate capable of leaping tall flames in a single bound, and he too launched himself over the bonfire.  Given the number of times the two of us have spent in police custody during both our high school and undergraduate years together, no one should have been surprised at this move.  Unfortunately, gravity was a bitch.  Glenn landed on his right ankle at such an angle that his tibia and fibula snapped.  Reminiscent of the disgusting Joe Thiesmann football injury, we all knew immediately that all was not well with his leg.

Luckily, there were a couple nurses there who assisted with a makeshift splint, and Jim Bob’s wife drove their Odyssey while Jody held the splinted fractures in place, and Jim bob navigated the way to the local hospital.  Much like the high school reunion weekend in “Beautiful Girls,” we spent a portion of ours visiting a classmate in the hospital.  His surgery was yesterday; he should recover eventually.

The reunion itself was fun, despite a disappointing (to me, at least) attendance.  I saw most of the folks I wanted to see, and the Maker’s Mark was half off.

My “getting the car stuck on a BMX track” incident was included in a 20-question trivia challenge related to all things Class of 1993, so that was flattering.

Afterward, we went to a local sports bar that featured taxidermy.

It closed at 2, so Steak & Shake was our next stop, where we stayed til about 4am (before the time change), which meant the drive back to Atlanta on Sunday included several instances of window + sunroof cracking for the health of all passengers.

Both during the day on Saturday and during the drive home on Sunday, my bride expressed her amazement at the quality of people with whom I shared my childhood (and, accordingly, the depth of friendships I still have with them today).  As much as I hope they have good health and successes in their chosen fields of study and careers, I also hope our children are lucky enough to be surrounded by loving, humorous, adventurous, and caring people with whom they can have lifelong friendships like I was.

And, I hope they’re smart enough not to jump through bonfires.