Reunion refreshingly short on egos

School reunions are the stuff of Hollywood laughs.

Just the other day I caught "Romy and Michelle's High School Reunion" while flipping through the channels. This is the line I heard: "What's the point of going to a reunion if you can't impress anyone?"

For years I've had relatives recount their reunions and everyone agrees: at 10 years, no one has changed. Twenty was a little better, 30 and 40 more so and by 50, well, you're just happy to be there.

This past spring, with my 10-year high school reunion on the horizon, four classmates and I started planning for the event to happen during Miners Jubilee.

(It's no coincidence, I don't think, that "98" rhymes with "procrastinate.")

After realizing we had no idea where to start, we made a list of names from our senior yearbook (about 130), split it into fifths and started the search by e-mail, Internet, and good old-fashioned phone calls to parents.

Tracking down addresses was a slow ordeal because we all have families and jobs and not a lot of spare time.

But we did the best we could, rented the Baker Tower, hired a caterer (Kristen Bell, the sister of a fellow classmate) and hoped people would show.

The first event of reunion day was the obligatory parade float thanks to a ride provided by Gary Smith Trucking. We could have, however, used a smaller vehicle because the 20 classmates who showed up had room to stretch.

Attendance at the lunch was a little better, but the promise of good food is always a good hook, as is the chance to see some people who have been MIA for 10 years.

Our gathering was family-friendly, which meant the buzz of conversation was punctuated by the joyous shrieks of youngsters delighted by the balloons — purple and gold, of course, for our alma mater.

I was alone with my daughter, Olivia, because my husband Jayson was attending his own reunion in Salem.

But I wasn't the only solo attendee — probably half the married women showed up sans husband due to conflicting schedules.

Though I spent a good portion of the time chasing my 13-month-old daughter (who taught her to walk, anyway?), I did get a chance to catch up with people I hadn't seen in almost 10 years, and visit with the friends I see at least once a year and e-mail even more often.

Alas, the warnings turned out to be true: Most everyone gravitated to the groups developed in high school.

And why not? For many, those are the people they've seen over the years at weddings, funerals, and trips back home.

Another group was just as predictable: the classmates who now live in Baker City. I admit I'm in this group because these are the people I see the most, and we all have kids around the same age.

(And let's be honest here: In Baker, people in their late 20s are not the majority.)

One warning didn't pan out, though, at least not that I noticed.

I heard no one boasting about their high-paying job or their magnificent car.

Instead, I heard stories of the wonderful people they'd married, or how a son climbed up chairs before he even walked.

Maybe I just turned a deaf ear to bragging, or maybe it happened while I was chasing Olivia, but it seemed like those gathered where just there for the simple act of reuniting.

Now we have another 10 years to live — another 10 years before I see most of my classmates again.

The funny thing is that no matter how much our lives change over the years, we will always have something in common that nothing can erase: our roots in Baker.

As the years pass, I appreciate my hometown more and more, and realize it's a wonderful place to raise a family.

Who knows — maybe someday the majority of our class will have returned for good for that same reason, or because it seems like a nice place to retire.

Then we'll have a parade.

Lisa Britton is a reporter for the Baker City Herald.