I don’t know about all of you, but I had a wonderful, yet weird Fourth of July. I got to go home to all my family and friends I get to see about once a year.

It seems like after high school we all went our own ways, either to college, into the military or started families. Of course, there are always the choice few who did nothing and remain exactly the same as they were when we graduated.

It always amazes me every Fourth of July — we all come together from wherever we strayed to and have a great time.

We always meet at my friend Dave’s father’s house on the lake.

Whether Dave is coming home from Japan, California or Texas, he always ends up throwing the best party every year.

This year was a strange one.

We’ve been going to these parties since we were freshmen in high school, but this party was a little different from those in the past.

First of all, my best friend couldn’t get a sitter and ended up bringing her husband and two-month-old baby to the party to see the fireworks on the lake.

Quite a change from the previous years when she and I went to the party to see which guys looked best in their swimsuits.

Next, one of my ex-boyfriends showed up. He hadn’t changed at all. In fact, he hadn’t even moved out of his dad’s house since we broke up.

The saddest part was he never even got the ambition to finish high school.

What do you say to a person you haven’t seen in a few years when they have been at a complete standstill — other than drinking more than any human should?

Then I found myself in the middle of a conversation held by two former female classmates. It consisted of how much formula their kids went through in a week and how they hate poopy diapers.

I felt a little out of place in the whole conversation since my only experience with formula and diapers has been from various baby-sitting jobs in high school.

Then I was forced to deal with the ever- present questions. It was like my married friends couldn’t wait to corner me with things like: “When are you getting married?” and “When is it going to be your turn to have a baby?”

It was very hard to squirm my way out of the conversation; the bathroom happened to be empty at just the right time.

Instead of playing the usual incriminating round of Truth or Dare, we all sat around playing cards and gossiping about all the dirt we’ve heard about people who weren’t at the party. If you weren’t there, you were fair game.

I couldn’t believe how much all my friends had changed just since last year. So many of them had gotten married and had kids that I began to feel like the outsider.

I have to admit, all of my friends’ children were adorable and most of their husbands were great, but when did we all grow up?

I don’t remember getting the little slip of paper which said: “Guess what, you are an adult now! Congratulations!”

Maybe the initial shock of seeing my friends as mommies and daddies will wear off with time, but what will next year’s party be like?

Will we all sit around talking about our new houses and station wagons?

Will we talk about our careers and how our children are growing up so fast?

Will we even come together to dish the dirt and see each other next Fourth of July? Will our past activities be considered immature?

I hope not.

I tend to like my immature way of life— it’s never boring and it’s a lot less work than raising another human being.

I can almost guarantee next year’s get- together won’t be like the wild high school parties of yesteryear.

It’s hard to be wild and crazy with a baby in one hand and a diaper bag in another.

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Sheila Collins is a senior in journalism and mass communication from Council Bluffs.