Every winter, the pale-bellied brant goose flies from the Canadian Arctic all the way to the British Isles, only to return in the spring. Every five years, salmon in the Atlantic Ocean fight their way up upstream back to the tributaries where they were born. And every 10 years, the graduates of East Lansing High School travel back to an agreed-upon sports bar to eat artichoke dip and ask each other, “How have you been? What are you doing now?”
Why do we do it? Why do we go to our high school reunions? It’s not as though most of the faces behind the name tags — slightly rounder, slightly grayer — had crossed our minds over the past decade. Yet, at the appointed time, like wildebeest streaming across the savannah, we heed reunion committee czar Biza Repko’s call to return.