I’m the guy who in third grade walked Debbie Riedel to school from her grandmother’s house because she was petrified of dogs.

I’m the guy who made an impression by calling a technical foul on Mark Kellar 35 years ago in a Lincoln Recreation basketball game and then throwing him out of the gym.

I’m the guy who photographed Steve and Dru Montgomery’s wedding who are a year away from marking their 50th year as a married couple.

I’m the guy they called “Scoop” who covered the sports exploits of more than a few people who still have what by now must be yellowed newspaper clippings.

And I’m the guy who handed high school diplomas to those in the Lincoln High Class of 1981 including my sister Mary.

I honestly did not know what to expect Saturday when I ventured north to Lincoln to attend a multiple class reunion that included mine from 50 years ago in 1974.

It was only my third reunion and if my sister hasn’t asked me to go I wouldn’t have gone.

I’m not exactly big on the idea of reliving my high school experience.

And to be honest, when she asked me I realized I hadn’t seen Mary, or been to Lincoln, in more than two years.

It didn’t seem that long given we talk on the phone for up to an hour at a time every two to three weeks.

Besides the fact my fellow classmates and those that followed me are a bit off their rocker repeatedly saying I hadn’t changed from what I looked like in high school, memories they brought up fit mine to a “T”.

It’s just that I never gave any thought to them until they were brought up Saturday.

As for me, except for a few people, I had to be helped connecting the dots when it came to facial recognition often going back a minimum of 50 years.

Name tags didn’t help.

Even with trifocals, I would have had to get up a little bit too close and personal to read who they were.

And they had me at a disadvantage.

My sister, when we entered the venue at Fowler’s Brewery, decided she’d best print my name on my name tag so people could read it.

My handwriting is — and was — that bad.

At various points in my life I’ve had three different pharmacists ask me if I went to medical school for a short time. My handwriting is that bad.

Lincoln when I graduated in 1974 has 3,200 residents. When I moved to Manteca in 1991 it had 7,489 residents. Today, there are 52,000 residents and counting.

That’s a 13-fold increase in 50 years. To match that growth over 50 years, Manteca would have had to go from 15,000 to 195,000 instead of 90,000 residents.

I get that things change.

But honestly it didn’t change that much except for more people and more construction.

I imagine the same thing can be said for Manteca.

A place has a certain look.

A community has a certain vibe.

They are not the same thing.

It was clear that everyone was light years away from 1974.

There’s been a lot of living in the past 50 years for all of us who have been around that long.

The Iranian Hostage Crisis. Gas shortages. Domestic atrocities too numerous to list. Sept. 11, 2001. The COVID pandemic.

And there’s a lot of broken records. Tensions and war in the Middle East. Tensions and war in Eastern Europe.

You get the picture.

All of that and more makes the world we know and knew.

But it isn’t indicative of the mosaic we’ve created as individuals or the community fabrics we’ve help weave.

Most of us are caught up in the history of evil and bad that others write.

But when it comes to the history of good, it is written by small acts of kindness and the interactions we have with others through the years.

I had no idea the simple act of an 8 year-old walking a neighbor to school meant that much that it is the first thing she’d bring up since last seeing her 50 years ago.

Nor the printed words, however amateurish they may strike me today, about someone I profiled  when gas was a then an outrageous 50 cents a gallon would still resonate with them today.

We all have faults with me jockeying to lead the crowd.

That’s because we’re human.

At the same time we are often blind to the good we do for others even if it is a gesture in a fleeting moment that took place a half century ago.

And to be honest, when all is said and done that is all that matters.

I still live off the euphoria 20 years ago during a surprise midnight call I received from Brian McClain, thanking me for helping him navigate a trying time in his life. All I thought I had done was go on long bicycle rides together and listen to him talk my ear off.

To be honest, I learned a lot from Brian: Patience, being willing to see the world through the eyes of someone else, and stepping up when need be to help keep others on an even keel.

As I was hugging my sister good-bye Saturday, I thought of a phone call she made to me one night during her first year teaching at Lincoln High.

She was distraught and at wit’s end that she was not reaching some students. One in particular with how he acted up was making her question her decision to enter teaching. She doubted she was getting through to any of them.

I offered her some advice that was once given me: You may never know the impact you have on the lives of another.

Six years later, the student that had pushed her to the edge of calling it quits, dropped by her class at Lincoln High.

At the time, he was a sergeant. If my memory serves me right, it was in the Army.

He just wanted Mary to know she had the biggest impact of any teacher he had in high school. And he credited Mary for not giving up on him and enabling him to be a success.

Reconnecting with people that helped shape your life — and vice versa —  regardless of how inconsequential it may seem, isn’t about living in the past.

It’s about remembering who you are.

This column is the opinion of editor, Dennis Wyatt, and does not necessarily represent the opinions of The Bulletin or 209 Multimedia. He can be reached at dwyatt@mantecabulletin.com