; Back in high school I used to have nightmares about taking a final exam in my underwear. I hadn't studied, of course, and if I flunked I'd be trapped in high school forever, declining like a Latin verb, dragged out on stage at assemblies to terrorize slackers into studying with a sign around my neck: “This could happen to YOU!”

        Yikes. Thank heaven the part about the underwear was only a dream.

        And what a relief that those days are long gone. I stopped having nightmares like that years ago, when they were replaced by something a lot scarier: class reunions.

        Last weekend, I attended my 30th reunion for the East Lansing High School Class of 1971. And now I will probably have nightmares for months, featuring a zombie parade of overweight, wrinkled, balding, gray-haired strangers who walk up to me, claim to be friends from high school and ask, “Do you remember me?” with one hand over their name tags.

        (There oughta be a law against doing that, punishable by four years of hard labor in Mr. Ashdown's algebra class.)

        If we could have looked ahead in high school to see what we'd look like 30 years later, a lot more of us would have been taking hard drugs. After all, if you're going to wind up looking like a homeless addict anyhow . . .

        Looking back is not that pretty, either.

        • And that's tip No. 1 for high school reunions: Try not to look back with your bifocals on. Keep it fuzzy. It's OK to retell the story about how Dave was was nearly strangled on graduation day when his gown got tangled in the chain of his motorcycle. But try to skip the felony arrests and unplanned pregnancies. Especially if spouses are present.

        • That takes us to tip No. 2: Don't take your spouse. My research indicates that class reunions are the second leading cause of divorce, next to hanging wallpaper together. The mental anguish of hearing about stupid things done 30 years ago by stupid people you never met and don't want to know is excruciating. And the inevitable attempts to rekindle old romances are about as fun to watch as a twitchy nicotine addict trying to light a wet Marlboro with soggy matches.

        • No. 3: Although it may be the first thing that comes to mind when the shock wears off, do NOT just blurt out, “Wow, you look just like your dad.” And never, in any circumstance, say, “You look like your mom.” Women take that comment pretty hard, and some guys can get downright nasty about it.

        Instead, be diplomatic: “You know, it's amazing, but looking at you is just like being back in high school. You look just like the person who used to come to the door when I picked you up: Your father.”

        • No. 4: It's easier to remember guys by what they drove. At dinner, I sat with a Camaro Z-28. We borrowed a cell phone from a MG-B to call a Triumph Spitfire. I was a 1959 Ford (the “Truffle Bus,” but don't ask) and Triumph motorcycle.

        • No. 5: Relax and be yourself — unless you are the Class Jerk who has not changed. Then, by all means, please be someone else.

        There's still a lot I don't understand. Such as:

        Why do they play the Jeremiah Bullfrog song at every class reunion since Parthenon High School Class of 1071 B.C.? Is it because nobody will claim that atrocity of musical imbecility?

        Are we all prisoners of our high school experience, waiting only to gather with three or more of our classmates to parole the dufus teen inside? Or was it all just a weird dream?

        At our 50th reunion, will we stop talking about kids and careers and discuss surgeries and pension plans?

        Do my teachers still have nightmares about me?
        E-mail: pbronson@enquirer.com. Past columns at Enquirer.com/columns/bronson

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