I was in Church on a recent Sunday and spotted a high school student a few pews in front of me. He was wearing a letterman’s jacket from my old high school. While daydreaming through the homily, I thought about going up to him after Mass and saying “Go Panthers!” while letting him know I was Class of 1965. Luckily I had time to calculate that approaching someone from the Class of 2018 would be like a geezer from the Class of 1912 doing that to me when I was a Senior. Of course that would have been unlikely because I never earned a letter to display (coaches discriminated against the uncoordinated back in the day). Having realized my initial impulse was not a good idea, I thought instead about passing on my wisdom and warning the young man that it would be creepy to approach a high school Senior on a similar mission in 2071 when he is 71. But since he was obviously a Jock, I was afraid he might not get the humor or the math. So I limped by him cloaked in the aroma of 1912.


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