Don't take it personally if some former classmates appear to blow off your attempt to reach out during reunion planning efforts. As during your school days, some are self-conscious or shy, and may need gentle coaxing. Some are momentarily consumed by life's challenges and are unable to come forward. For others, perhaps high school was not a particularly enjoyable time in their lives--not exactly all rainbows and pixie dust, or unicorns and glitter. A few may be philosophically or religiously opposed to a reunion. Of course, some of your classmates may simply be lazy.

Regardless of why, a small number may actively avoid contact, wanting to leave the past in the past. Therefore, for a variety of reasons, some individuals will likely never show up at your reunion, and others will, but only after remaining silent or unavailable during the months leading up to it.

In all cases, the best you can do is offer your classmates the opportunity to engage, and respect their decision. If they ultimately decline, let it go and don't worry about it. After all, what fun would it be if people at your reunion didn't really want to be there? Focus instead on those who truly want to visit old friends, talk, and briefly share some fond memories -- then help them realize that goal.

Don't assume the people who seemed least likely to succeed have become failures, or vice-versa. While most of us desperately wanted to grow up fast, we were still children in those days, and under the care of parents or guardians. Like most children, we had little real control over our circumstances or eventual destinies. That thug who was always getting into fights may now be a cop or a clergyman. That guy who always cut classes is now a lawyer or a business executive. Maybe that handsome former athlete is now an unemployed roadie, or the Prom Queen is now on her twelfth marriage. And don't be surprised if that girl who always wore too much makeup and looked kind of slutty, still wears too much makeup and looks kind of slutty, but now's she's a pediatrician or a publisher. In short, high school popularity and social standing are often woefully poor predictors of future success, failure, and happiness.

Don't cover up your photo nametag and go up to people and say, "Remember me?" Several people did this at my reunion, and all it did was create an uncomfortable moment. I had no idea who they were, and then they were insulted. Finally, I came up with an answer: "Remember you? Are you kidding? You're all I've thought of since high school." Then they'd reveal their ID, and I realized why I hadn't recognized them. They didn't resemble their high school photo in any way — except perhaps being of the same species.

Don't count on romance. Some people go to their reunion, hoping that the person they always had a crush on will still look great, happen to be single, and finally realize that they were meant for each other. If you're going to travel thousands of miles hoping this will come true, you should know that it's possible, but you're a lot more likely to have the airlines lose your luggage.

Don't say stupid things. If you ask someone, "Whatever happened to that creepy guy you were dating?" a guaranteed reply is, "I married him." You should also avoid, "Did you meet any nice people in jail?" And no matter how much you're tempted, don't go up to that person you went out with once and say, "I'm a much better kisser now. Really, I am."

Don't pass out your resume or open your sample case. These people are your classmates, not potential customers. However, at my reunion, one guy found a way to tell about what he did rather inoffensively. He said he was an inventor in the reunion book, and each of us received one of his inventions: it's a little light that illuminates your sock drawer, so you can get dressed in the dark and not put on mismatched socks. By giving these away, he demonstrated that he really was an inventor. He also revealed that he spends way too much time thinking about sock drawers.

Do ask your classmates' permission before sharing any of their personal contact information with other alumni. Under no circumstances should any nonessential personal contact information be posted on the Internet, even for reunion planning purposes.

Do realize that upon entering the reunion, everyone is having the same thought you are: "How did everyone else get so old?" Just know there is a 20- or 30-something-year-old mind trapped inside every EHS 1967 Alumni body. All you have to do is talk to them and that mind will likely reveal itself to you.

Do resume old friendships without blaming each other for not calling or writing. You'll be amazed at how quickly you'll feel comfortable with old friends.

Do talk to people you didn't know very well in high school. You may find they're having an interesting life and end up with a new friend.

Do be a little suspicious about attire. Unless it is specifically stated otherwise on the invitation, just dress comfortably. These are not people you need to impress by wearing fancy clothes. However, if you ask an old friend ahead of time what everybody's going to wear, he's probably putting you on if he says, "the reunion is clothing optional."

Do, above all else, have a good time and enjoy the company of your old classmates.

Forget the diet, forget the Botox. The key to having a successful, even a triumphant reunion, is hair.

If you're a man who still has a full head of hair, you will be a hit even if you are unemployed and have cold sores. If you happen to be bald, be proud of your baldness. Convey the attitude that, "I look great bald, and if you don't think so, you're just wrong." Do not cover up your baldness by wearing one of those things that looks like road kill. For women (and some men) who dye their hair, it's important that the color you choose at least resemble some color that is found in nature.

Have you been guilty of looking at others your own age and thinking...surely I cannot look that old? You may enjoy this short story, which could be true....

While waiting for my first appointment in the reception room of a new dentist, I noticed his certificate, which bore his full name. Suddenly, I remembered that a tall, handsome boy with the same name had been in my high school class, some 40 years ago. Upon seeing him, however, I quickly discarded any such thought. This balding, gray-haired man with the deeply lined face was way too old to have been my classmate.

After he had examined my teeth, I asked him if he had attended the local high school. "Yes," he replied. "When did you graduate?" I asked. He answered, "In 1967. Why?" "You were in my class!" I exclaimed. He looked at me closely and then asked, "What did you teach?"

I had prepared for it like any intelligent woman would. I went on a starvation diet the day before, knowing that all the extra weight would just melt off in 24-hours, leaving me with my sleek, trim, high-school-girl body. The last many years of careful cellulite collection would just be gone with a snap of a finger. I knew if I didn't eat a morsel on Friday, that I could probably fit into my senior formal on Saturday.

Trotting up to the attic, I pulled the gown out of the garment bag, carried it lovingly downstairs, ran my hand over the fabric, and hung it on the door. I stripped naked, looked in the mirror, sighed, and thought, "Well, okay, maybe if I shift it all to the back ...;" bodies never have pockets where you need them.

Bravely, I took the gown off the hanger, unzipped the shimmering dress and stepped gingerly into it. I struggled, twisted, turned, and pulled and I got the formal all the way up to my knees ... before the zipper gave out. I was disappointed. I wanted to wear that dress with those silver platform sandals again and dance the night away.

Okay, one setback was not going to spoil my mood for this affair. No way! Rolling the dress into a ball and tossing it into the corner, I turned to Plan B ... the black velvet caftan. I gathered up all the goodies that I had purchased at the drug store; the scented shower gel; the body building, and highlighting shampoo & conditioner, and the split-end killer and shine enhancer. Soon my hair would look like that girl's in the Pantene ads.

Then the makeup -- the under eye "ain't no lines here" firming cream, the all-day face-lifting gravity-fighting moisturizer with wrinkle filler spackle; the all day "kiss me till my lips bleed, and see if this gloss will come off" lipstick, the bronzing face powder for that special glow ... But first, the roll-on facial hair remover. I could feel the wrinkles shuddering in fear.

OK - time to get ready. I jumped into the steaming shower, soaped, lathered, rinsed, shaved, tweezed, buffed, scrubbed, and scoured my body to a tingling pink. I plastered my freshly scrubbed face with the anti-wrinkle, gravity fighting, "your face will look like a baby's butt" face cream. I set my hair on the hot rollers. I felt wonderful. Ready to take on the world. Or in this instance, my underwear. With the towel firmly wrapped around my glistening body, I pulled out the black lace, tummy-tucking, cellulite-pushing, ham hock-rounding girdle, and the matching "lifting those bosoms like they're filled with helium" bra.

I greased my body with the scented body lotion and began the plunge. I pulled, stretched, tugged, hiked, folded, tucked, twisted, shimmied, hopped, pushed, wiggled, snapped, shook, caterpillar crawled, and kicked. Sweat poured off my forehead but I was done. And it didn't look bad. So I rested. A well deserved rest, too. The girdle was on my body.

Bounce a quarter off my behind? It was tighter than a trampoline. Can you say, "Rubber baby buggy bumper butt?" Okay, so I had to take baby steps, and walk sideways, and I couldn't move from my butt cheeks to my knees. But I was firm! Oh no ... I had to go to the bathroom. And there wasn't a snap crotch. From now on, undies gotta have a snap crotch. I was ready to rip it open and re-stitch the crotch with Velcro, but the pain factor from past experiments was still fresh in my mind. I quickly side stepped to the bathroom. An hour later, I had answered nature's call and repeated the struggle into the girdle.

I was ready for the bra. I remembered what the saleslady said to do. I could see her glossed lips mouthing, "Do not fasten the bra in the front, and twist it around. Put the bra on the way it should be worn -- straps over the shoulders. Then bend over and gently place both breasts inside the cups." Easy if you have four hands. But, with confidence, I put my arms into the holsters, bent over and pulled the bra down ... but the boobs weren't cooperating. I'd no sooner tuck one in a cup, and while placing the other, the first would slip out.

I needed a strategy. I bounced up and down a few times, tried to dribble them in with short bunny hops, but that didn't work. So, while bent over, I began rocking gently back and forth on my heel and toes and I set 'em to swinging. Finally, on the fourth swing, pause, and lift, I captured the gliding glands. Quickly fastening the back of the bra, I stood up for examination. Back straight, slightly arched, I turned and faced the mirror, turning front, and then sideways. I smiled. Yes, Houston, we have lift up! My breasts were high, firm and there was cleavage! I was happy until I tried to look down. I had a chin rest. And I couldn't see my feet. I still had to put on my pantyhose, and shoes. Then I had to pee again.

I put on my sweats, fixed myself a drink, ordered pizza, and skipped the reunion.

Editorial note -- We hope none of our EHS 1967 alumni stay home and miss any of our class reunions! The fact we aren't as young, pretty, handsome or fit as we once were won't surprise or disappoint anyone. We're all like fine wine -- we've improved with age -- more character, more substance, more complex, more interesting, and better taste.

It was wonderful! For the Class of '53, sanity had finally trumped vanity. Of course, I recognized no one.

Between aging and the blurring of memory, I could have been at a casting call for the movie "Cocoon." And either some had aged more gracefully than others or there was a rare twenty-year span in our ages when we graduated. To a person, we secretly wondered what someone as young as our self was doing surrounded by all these old coots. 

Suddenly Trivia: Which of the following was NOT popular in 1953? a) "The Doggie In the Window" by Patti Page, b) Philco TV Playhouse c) Pez, d) Ernest Borgnine in Marty

All of us, victims of time, gravity, and at least minor derelictions of youth, had become more forgiving, more congenial. More loving. Of the 463 in our graduating class, 58 were dead, 71 were "whereabouts unknown" and likely gone as well.

One had had a heart attack as she was leaving for the reunion. Others had literally dropped dead, one in the middle of Times Square.

Such food for thought filled us survivors with gratitude. What if we were a bit the worse for wear? We'd made it this far! No small accomplishment, that, even if much of it is the draw of the genes.

I wore my earring. No one said a word. No one stared. Old Dutch didn't even reach for his camera. He just smiled.

The Class of '53 had finally come of age.