Same old, same old.

The twins' school recently held a spaghetti dinner fundraising night at the local high school. Eying an opportunity to avoid cooking dinner, I signed us up. At the time I had no idea what I was in for.

The dinner was held in the high school cafeteria - MY high school cafeteria - and when we walked in, I was instantly transported back to 1990.

The cafeteria basically looked the same. They had new tables and chairs, but aside from that, the room was exactly as I remembered it. And thanks to the JV basketball practice across the hall, it even smelled the same.

After filing through the chow line to get our spaghetti, salad and bread -- I half hoped they'd have at least one pan of turkey tetrazzini for old time's sake -- we ventured out in the dining hall to find a place to sit.

The twins, seeing a table of their classmates, ditched and left us to find a seat on our own. As I scanned the room for a place to sit, I felt like an awkward teen again.

I paused briefly at the table of PTO moms. I have no doubt these women were once the popular cheerleader types. They were perfectly coiffed, with impeccable nails and expensive-looking highlights. Many of them had even managed to coordinate their families' outfits. I decided to press on.

Then there was the table of Boy Scout leaders, a bunch of dads sporting troop-leader uniforms peppered with various badges and pins. These guys were obviously former jocks whose letter men jackets used to clank and jingle as they strutted down the hallway 20 years earlier. Again, we kept moving.

The next table was full of somewhat matronly looking ladies, who all appeared to know each other well. They were The Volunteer Moms, the ones who are semi-constant fixtures in my kids' classes, able to spend long days helping out in their kids' classrooms. I'm not sure where they would've fit in 20 years ago, but, knowing I'm one of those Working Moms who never has time to help during the day, I knew I didn't fit in there either.

We continued on.

We passed a table of moms in sweat pants and hair scrunchies and dads in hoodies. The kids who used to cut class to smoke out behind the bleachers, perhaps? I wasn't sure, but we kept moving. I half-hoped to find a table of parents with band instruments, but after a quick scan, came up empty.

We eventually found a vacant table (thank God) and ate our spaghetti, careful to avoid cutting through the Styrofoam plates with our plastic knives.

It's amazing to me that no matter how much we change, things stay the same. No matter how much time passes, it isn't too hard to find that insecure kid hiding just below the surface.

And so I do now what I did then: Embrace the awkwardness.

I choose to smile and chat with everyone, regardless of if I feel I fit in or not. Life's just more interesting that way.

And at our ages, anyone who'd try to give a nerd like me a swirlie would end up totally wrecking his back.