At the front of the yearbook reads: “1961, the best year of our lives.”

That was certainly true at the time, I recall, turning the pages of the “Resume,” the bright blue book that chronicled the high school days of 275 graduates.

It was an outstanding class, to be sure, with a class average of 92.5; 25 National Merit Finalist Awards; and accomplishments in a myriad of activities, from arts to athletics.

Our Latin skit won top honors in the state, our classmates were elected officers in the Youth Congress, our theater guild performed “Teahouse of the August Moon” in the fall and “Carousel” for its spring musical.

I read over the captions beside our yearbook photos: “Impish laughter, lanky letterman, dignified and dreamy, winsome ways, carefree chorister, beauty and brains.” The yearbook editors were alliterative, to say the least, and complimentary to each graduate, many of whom were described as “one in a million.”

Forty years have gone by since I’ve seen most of these one-in-a-million people with whom I shared tears and laughter, romances and secrets, dreams and disappointments.

Back then, we thought we’d never change, that we’d talk on the phone for hours and guffaw at the same jokes, dance to the same tunes, devour the same books, enumerate the same antics. We thought we’d go on being friends forever, despite the miles and the milestones in our lives that would separate us.

As our high school reunion nears, we learn that 17 of our classmates are deceased. All 275 of us have been accounted for, and nearly 200 plan to attend – those who were in the student council, the math club, the choral group, the marching band, the hunting and fishing club, the debate team, the honors society.

During these years, most of the graduates have married; many are divorced. Some are grandparents; several lost children to illness or accidents. Many have moved from the area yet a nucleus of the class remains.

A few have become millionaires; some are preachers, doctors, lawyers, authors, homemakers, teachers, business owners. Some have retired. Some have become fat; others thin. Some are bald; most are gray.

There have been changes indeed. We may find the years have placed a wedge between us, and our conversations may be contrived, our greetings disingenuous, our hugs and handshakes stilted, our memories vague, dissimilar.

Or we may be bound together by a contagious spirit as natural as in one of our pep rallies before a football game.

By tomorrow night, we’ll know. We’ll gather for our 40th reunion. And, for a weekend we’ll try to remember – and re-enact – “the best year of our lives.”