IT HELPED that the first college classmate I ran into had even less hair on his head than I did.

Flat bald, he was, with a thickening midsection similar enough to make me breathe a sigh of relief.

Good, I thought as I grabbed a seat for lunch at my 25th college reunion at Washington & Lee in Lexington last weekend. I'm not the only one 25 years has taken a toll on.

And yet, as I tried to gracefully munch on a big piece of fried chicken, being back with this old college crowd was a strange feeling.

Even with name tags, there's that awkward, eye-squinting moment when you look at one of them and rack your brain to figure out who the heck you're talking to.

"Hey, Rob, how's it going, buddy?" said one of those guys, surprising me from behind and not giving me time to even start a quick, panicked brain search for his identity.

Sure, there was a name tag, but that wasn't helping me place him.

"It's me, Stump!" he said, uttering the key nickname that immediately placed him for me. It's what all of us on the football squad called the friendly, athletic teammate who now makes his home in Fairfax.

And somehow, that seemed to break the ice.

Others of us who'd quietly shuffled in to take places at the tables labeled with our graduation year--several classes were having reunions--hopped up and began renewing friendships all around.

Some of the guys I greeted looked like they hadn't aged two weeks. Others were so old or weathered I wouldn't have known them in a million years.

But in each case, the interaction with former classmates was about the same.

First, you establish eye contact, shake hands and try to mentally link up the classmate of today with the vision you've got bouncing around in your brain from yesteryear.

Next comes the small talk and update: where you live, what you do, how many kids you have and how often you've been back to visit the alma mater.