The Silver-Haired Crowd

Alumni weekend is just past at our university.  As a student I used to head home over alumni weekend, wanting to skip the silver-haired crowds wandering the campus and jamming the church pews.  As a young faculty member (at another college), I braved the silver-haired crowd, listening politely to their enthusiasm and nostalgia, but moseying along before I had to listen to more than one story.

Now, back at my alma mater, the silver-haired crowd are the parents of friends, former colleagues, and [gasp] classmates who graduated with me 25 years ago.  I find myself listening with interest to more than one story before moseying along.

I was walking back to my car from the homecoming banquet in the gymnasium when I spotted a little old white-haired couple walking along.  They were stooped, about half my height.  Taking a peek at their name tags as I passed them up, I concluded that I didn't know them.  But it's part of my job to be friendly and help them feel welcomed home, so I paused.

Me:  How are you?  Did you enjoy the banquet?

Mrs. Alumnus:  Oh yes!

Mr. Alumnus, peering at my name tag:  What is your name?

I told them, and watched them process the question of whether they knew me or not.

Mrs. Alumnus:  I don't think I know you.  But I think you were a senior when I was a freshman.

Mr. Alumnus:  Oh no, Honey.  You finished in 1958.  She graduated in 1985.

Mrs. Alumnus:  Ohhhhhh.

It was funny and sweet and poignant all at the same time ... and I suppose just a bit alarming. She believed for a moment that I was a senior when she was a freshman? I must be starting to fit in with the silver-haired crowd.