I am about to attend one of the most stressful events anyone can imagine. That’s right: I will soon be going to my high school class reunion. Specifically, it’s the reunion that will mark 50 years since we graduated.

Fifty years. How can that be?

How is it that half a century has slipped under the bridge since we wore those ridiculously oversized gowns and those silly caps that looked like a cross between a beanie and a pizza box?

I’ve stayed in touch with a few of my classmates over the years. Some of them, like me, never left the area. We’re among those who decided to try to thrive where we were planted. Either that or our plans for obtaining wealth and security involved investing heavily in lottery tickets.

My wife and I recently went grocery hunting at the supermarket and an elderly guy stopped and chatted with me in a familiar manner.

“Who was that scruffy old codger?” my wife asked afterwards.

Swallowing hard, I replied, “He’s one of my classmates.” That experience was enough to make me seriously reconsider my vow to never use hair dye.

Some of my classmates went to college, landed fabulous jobs, climbed the corporate ladder, became the CEO of their company and now spend the bulk of their time jetting around the globe in pursuit of their hobbies such as collecting potato chips that resemble famous historic individuals.

At least that’s what I imagine became of them. I haven’t seen them in 50 years, and a lot can happen in that amount of time.

When we graduated in 1975, the class of 1925 was celebrating the 50th anniversary of their graduation. Thinking about that boggles the mind.

Unbeknownst to the class of 1925, their future held the Great Depression, the Dust Bowl era, World War II, Korea, Vietnam, and the twin cultural scourges of poodle skirts and the hula-hoop.

Our generation also had to endure some awful things such as the cultural scourge of leisure suits that had lapels the size of Batman’s wings and our regrettable fascination with disco music and John Travolta.

Looking at my senior photo, I’m reminded of how uncool I was and how hard I was trying to be cool.

Whose idea was it to wear that red-and-white checkered suit coat?

And my patchy, scraggly sideburns merely bring to mind the word “scruffy.”

The point is that every generation will have to face its own unique challenges. Given enough time — say 50 years or so — these challenges will be deemed historical even though at the time they might merely seem hysterical.

One of my favorite “Peanuts” comic strip moments features Schroeder playing his toy piano. Lucy is reclining with an elbow on the piano and Snoopy is perched on its top.

As Schroeder begins playing, Snoopy stands at rigid attention. But within moments, the poor pooch is reduced to a puddle of tears and has to leave the scene. Schroeder wryly remarks, “Nothing affects an old grad like the playing of ‘Pomp and Circumstance.'”

I nearly didn’t make it into the Class of ’75 for a couple of reasons. To begin with, I was born on Oct. 30 and the cutoff birth date for enrolling in first grade at that time was Nov. 1. My parents wondered if I had what it took to survive the brutal jungle of first grade. I did, but I think it helped that Mom was a former school teacher.

Impatient to launch my farming career, I wanted to be done with high school as soon as possible. I doubled up on some classes with the goal of amassing enough credits to graduate at the end of my junior year. That plan would have worked if I hadn’t flunked Crafts class. I learned the hard way that Mrs. Hoffelt required that you actually attend Crafts classes in order to receive a passing grade.

How could I have known?

The Sioux Valley High School Class of 1975 will ride on a float in Volga’s annual Old Timer’s Day parade. Little kids will watch us roll by, regarding us as mere curiosities, ancient fossils from the Cretaceous Period. Members of the Class of 2025 will look at us and find it unimaginable that they, or anyone for that matter, could ever become that old. In other words, they will be thinking pretty much the same things that we thought all those years ago.

It will be good to catch up with my old classmates. I’m betting that there will be a lot of reminiscing and some emotional moments.

I’ll be fine as long as they don’t play “Pomp and Circumstance.”

— Jerry’s book, “Dear County Agent Guy” can be found at www.workman.com and in bookstores nationwide.