When Melissa Stagnaro and I walked into the Oxford Retired Teachers Association luncheon on Tuesday, we were buck naked. Worse, they started to give us a test for which we had not studied, in a course we hadn’t taken. But before the test even started, they engaged us in a particularly brutal game of dodge ball.

That’s how it happened in my high school angst-ridden dream Monday night, anyway. Fortunately, reality on Tuesday turned out to be far less humiliating.

As I understand it, a member of the group contacted Melissa a few months ago and asked if she, Tyler Murphy and I, as esteemed alumni of Oxford Academy, would speak at the group’s annual luncheon about our Blackhawk experience. And I say as I understand it because, despite her protestations otherwise, I swear Melissa never told me about it until Mrs. Franco called me to “confirm.”

Never one to turn down an opportunity to talk about myself (another trait Ms. Stagnaro and I apparently have in common), I jumped at the chance. (Tyler, he just missed this chance of a lifetime by a couple weeks. Poor guy). But as the day approached, I was filled with dread.

What had I gotten myself into? (I ask that question a lot). Public speaking is one thing; although I still get a tad nervous, I’ve done it a thousand times and know I’ll muddle through. But in front of a roomful of my former teachers?!? What was I thinking?

No matter how far removed you get from the high school experience (and this June marks 25 years for me), former teachers will always have the ability to regress you into a snot-nosed youth with a mere glance. And even though my own hair is now as gray as theirs, I still felt like I was 8 years old in front of most of them. Twelve in front of the rest, I suppose.