My 45th high school reunion (Hebron Academy Class of 1969) was held recently on an autumn weekend amid the ivy-shrouded classrooms and storied playing fields of that venerable institution.

Naturally, I’d received plenty of information ahead of time. I’d even decided to post my “Class of '69” save-the-date reminder from the school’s highly motivated alumni association at eye level on my refrigerator door.

The fact that the alumni announcement was secured by a tiny magnetized replica of that timeless icon of American gastronomic excellence — Spam — speaks volumes.

(I acquired it several years ago whilst browsing through the gift shop at the no doubt frequently “bucket listed” Spam Museum in Austin, Minnesota.)

If only at some vague subliminal level, it seems clear to me now that a part of me had been debating whether or not to show up for the festivities at my alma mater.

Alas, the gods of commerce ultimately prevailed.

I managed to resist the tug of “Old School Ties” and the prospect of hobnobbing with a gaggle long lost chums and wound up spending most of that weekend motoring through foliage strewn mountain passes on my way to and from a couple of solid, income-generating gigs in nearby New Hampshire.

Don’t misunderstand me. There’s no way I’d want my decision to skip the reunion to leave the impression that I’ve forgotten, or heaven forbid even forsaken my old school, the people I encountered during my days there, or the many important life changing events that transpired within those hallowed halls.

But right about now, those of you who have followed these weekly ramblings with any degree of regularity will have found my self-identification as a member of the Hebron Academy class of '69 rather baffling. I don’t blame you.

It’s perfectly understandable considering that on several occasions (in this very space) I’ve represented myself as a genuine, diploma-toting member of the Boothbay Region High School class of ’69. If that’s true how does Hebron Academy fit in there?

Have I changed my story entirely?

Am I suddenly claiming to have earned two distinct and separate degrees from two totally unrelated institutions during the exact same four-year time frame?

Is that even possible?

Could I have been in two places at once for several years without anybody ever noticing it? Was there maybe a doppelganger involved?

Well let’s see, taking those questions in the order in which they were posed, my answers would be as follows: No. Not exactly. Sort of. No. And no again.

Welcome to the weird, eclectic, never-a-dull moment reality of my scholastic career. In the interest of brevity, let’s try the streamlined approach. I’ll supply the basic the facts. After that, however you decide to interpret them will be strictly up to you. OK? Ready? Set? Here goes.

Back in 1964, at the tender age of 13 and suffering from an as-yet-undiagnosed learning disability, I commenced my secondary school career at Hebron Academy. When I signed on as a (parental) dues paying member of the class of 1969, nobody (least of all moi) had the slightest inkling that I was headed for an academic train wreck of truly epic proportions.

Let me stipulate for the record that my freshman year at Hebron was an unrelenting, anxiety ridden nightmare, a blackboard jungle crawling with predators, from which I emerged the following spring having produced what may well be the worst academic record in the academy’s history.

Needless to say I was (in the vernacular of the day) “Not Asked to Return.”

Eventually I did manage to scrape together (barely) enough academic credits to earn a BRHS diploma–circa 1969.

So how does that extra degree from Hebron Academy come into it?

I’m glad you asked. I really am.

In October of 2004 Hebron Academy celebrated the school’s 200th anniversary, and the aforementioned alumni association lined up two keynote speakers for the event.

(As a side note, apparently even if you’re “Not Asked To Return” once the date upon which you would have graduated-has passed, presto! You’re automatically granted retroactive alumni status.)

Anyway, the first speaker was a celebrated U.S. senator. The second? That would be yours truly. Ayuh, Mr. N.A.T.R. himself.

To call it a magical evening would be a massive understatement. Following my remarks, Headmaster John King approached the podium, gestured for the crowd to settle down — and handed me my diploma.

I was literally struck speechless as he explained that mine was the only such honorary degree to have been awarded in school’s history.

So in a way I really did earn two diplomas from two different schools at the same. It just took 35 years for one of them to arrive.