I was visiting my old home town, waiting to get a table at a restaurant. It was one of those places where you give your name to a receptionist who puts you on a waiting list. I overheard another man giving his name and I recognized it. It was the name of one of my old high-school classmates. But as I looked at him, I couldn't believe he was the kid I knew. He appeared much too old—balding, with a white beard, paunchy, wrinkled, walking with a cane, and wearing a hearing aid. Nevertheless, there was a certain resemblance, so I couldn't get it out of my head that he might be the one I remembered.

I approached him and cautiously asked: "Say, did you go to Southwest High School?"

He said, "Yes, I did."

I asked, "What year did you graduate?"

He said, "1965."

I said, "Hey! You were in my class!"

He looked me up and down and said, "Oh, really? What did you teach?"