One of the evening’s events was going to be the opening of a time capsule. I couldn’t recall anything about a time capsule when I was a student there; mind you, I was only eight when the school opened. I was looking forward to viewing the contents.
Shortly after my tour of the school I entered the gym. Photographs from over the years were on display along with other memorabilia. It was nice to chat with people, some of whom I hadn’t seen in decades. Shortly after seven, the school choir performed and speeches were made. Finally, the principal announced that they were going to open the time capsule and invited all students who were present at the time to make their way to the front of the gym.
As I walked towards the front, I noticed that the only other people moving in that direction seemed to be half my age. I suddenly realized that the time capsule in question didn’t have anything to do with me. I quickly turned to the right and approached a woman standing next to the wall.
“Something tells me that the capsule being opened isn’t from when the school was built.”
She responded, “No, it is from when they renovated the library in 1997.” This explained why the participants appeared to be so much younger than me.
I continued, “OK, I feel like an idiot. Can we pretend I made my way up here just to talk to you?”
“Sure. I have your back.”
After a few moments I smiled, backed away and waved to her as if she were an old friend. I returned to the back of the gym.
As the capsule was opened I realized, Hold it now, 1997 was only 20 years ago. I still have clothes older than that. Actually, I have a number of headbands I wear when exercising on the cross-trainer at the gym. One of them is the last of the cloth diapers my son used, and he has been toilette trained since 1990.
1997? That’s not a time capsule. They’re called boxes in my basement.
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