Last weekend, my family was invited to a get-together at the west Corvallis home of my friend Koz (that’s a nickname; real name is Deron) and his wife Margo. It was a post-wedding, pre-baby celebration.

The Lundeberg family ended up being represented by myself my son Bob, who had gotten to know Koz through some Saturday morning pickup basketball games, and sports were also a theme at the Saturday afternoon party. Bob and I and a couple other guys brought baseball gloves and played catch, and we also threw a football around.

In addition, we shot baskets and squared off at ping-pong, though we never did get around to using the boxing gloves or either of Koz’s two foosball tables.

Bob and I did, however, find lots of time to make our way to the food table and the two kegs, from Block 15, that Koz had on hand. All of that activity on a warm day is, of course, very thirsty work.

At one point during one of our beer breaks, Bob felt compelled to comment on my attire.

“Why do you dress like a 14-year-old?” he asked, noting my ensemble of Chuck Taylors, khaki cargo shorts and a gray T-shirt that bore the words “Gym Class Hero.”

I laughed heartily, then answered.

“Well,” I said, “at the moment I was getting ready, this was one of the few shirts I had that wasn’t wrinkled. And I am, after all, a Gym Class Hero.”

Hitting the latrine awhile later before Bob and I left for part II of our gluttony and sloth tour — a Corvallis Knights game — I glanced at myself in the mirror and thought about what Bob had said. Naturally, my next step was to photograph myself in the mirror to let you, the readers, decide if I was dressed like a 14-year-old (of course, snapping a picture  in a bathroom mirror maybe adds another question: Why do you act like a 14-year-old?).

Anyway, here’s the pic (sorry I couldn’t capture the shorts or the Chucks; just use your imagination):

gymclassmirror