High school (Part 2)

We’ll always love you, Alma Mater;
We’ll always love and trust in you.
Heads held high for ____ High.
We will always be for you….
Through smiles and tears of the future years,
You will always hold and claim us still.

I am reading these rather maudlin words now on the front inside cover of my high school yearbook, the publication that I worked on all during that rather momentous senior year. The summer and fall following graduatiion, we all went off into the world, beginning the journeys that would take us far from that little spot on the map.

How ancient that time seems on this mid-October morning in 2001, 32 years later. The boys in the pictures all had long hair in front, combed neatly to hang over their foreheads. The girls had eihter beehive hairstyles or longish hair that curled up at the ends on each side below their chins. How quaint the dark-rimmed glasses, the neat slacks and button-down oxford shirts, casual, yet formal indeed compared the the jeans and tee shirts of today.

There is a picture of the “Sweetheart of 1969” in formal gown clutching a single rose. Boys Pelican State members, civic-minded kids learning about state government. A big picture of our senior ring. Many pictures of our football team. In fact, we were runner-up in Distrct 4-AAA that year. I even went to a couple of games, a first for me.

Homecoming Court. Student dances. Yearbook staff at work. That’s my favorite section of the yearbook. There’s a picture of me typing away at an old battered Royal typewriter.

What memories those pictures bring back, but it was so long ago, and the memories are fading, even as I struggle to feel some sense of emotional attachment to them. I don’t want time to take that away from me.

We had a Drama Club, Glee Club, Concert Band, Key Club, Keyettes, Student Council. The guy who lived in back of me in my leafy, suburban neighborhood was student body president and the most popular kid in school. Earlier in our high school days, 9th grade to be exact, we used to hang out together at his house after school and play pool in his family’s upstairs game room. A brief and difficult-to-understand friendship, from the perspective of those long years that have passed. Our vastly different social circles pulled us apart, even though we remained neighbors. There were no backyard fences. Just some shrubs he would jump across as he bounded over to my house after school. We also played football and basketball on occasion.

Headlines on the academic department pages: “The lessons of history give insight to the present;” “Music entertains with song and melody” (we wrote such memorable headings); “Science probes the mysteries of life and the universe;” “Speech improves self-confidence.”

And then, of course, the most memorable part of the yearbook experience, the part everyone either loved or dreaded: Signing the yearbook.

* May your philosophy prosper in years to come, whatever they may bring.

* It’s been a pleasure to know such a witty and intelligent person as you are. (This wasn’t a time for modesty, graduating from high school was heady stuff).

* I’ve really enjoyed knowing you. I’d say you’ve been an inspiration, but how can I lie to you! (ouch)

* Maybe some day you’ll be able to stand me in a tennis game.

* To a real sweet and cute boy. (That was classic!)

* You’re going places fast, so don’t slow down. (I wish)

* Well, this certainly has been a productive year for you with the yearbook, term paper and all your ramblings…

* You’ve been a true friend for years. (from a kid i had known since 5th grade), but never really knew well. No-one did, I don’t think.

As I close the yearbook, I gaze at a picture of the school. It has been more years than I can even remember since I have seen it. I don’t even know for sure if it’s still there.

And today, October 12, 2001, it all seems like such an impossibly innocent time, although I know it wasn’t.