There I am, graduation from 8th grade from the now-defunct Park View Elementary in Huntington Beach, 1982. I love this picture, braces and all. It brings back that afternoon in June so many years ago with crystal-clear glee. It was one of the happiest days of my life.
Do you remember that feeling of being young and completely unfettered and joyful? School was over and I had the new world of High School waiting for me after a summer of going to the beach and hanging out with my friends. I wasn't being hammered by the worries of adulthood, or even the jittery angst of a teenager.
I would give anything to have that feeling just for an hour today, but I think it's reserved for kids of a certain age. Every cliche of youth seems to reveal itself as true as the years pass in the blink of an eye. (Oh look, there's one now.)
I think the innocence and simplicity of that time is best characterized in the inscriptions and signatures in my old Junior High yearbooks. I found I was drawn more to those than to who was voted "Class Flirt" or who won the baffling "Citizenship Award." The girls professed their undying friendship and the boys proclaimed with astonishing (and soon fleeting) clarity their true feelings.
I can recall the honor and slight terror in being handed a yearbook that needed to be signed. Its owner hovering above me with a look that said, "This better be good. I wrote an entire three paragraphs on the back page of yours and claimed you as a FF (Friend Forever)." So, without the help of spell check and hindered by my disgraceful spelling skills bestowed to me by the education system of Orange County at that time, I did my very best to write something heartfelt and meaningful.
While reading my yearbooks, one thing that popped out at me was the call for me to "Stay Sweet." This was written over and over again: "Suzanne, stay sweet." So, either my friends thought I was in dire danger of crossing over to utter wickedness or it was just a filler comment like "Have a bitchin' summer. See ya at the beach," which also habitually appears in every Orange County yearbook.
I started to wonder what kids who weren't from California wrote in their yearbooks if they didn't have a beach to reunite on in the summer. My husband is from rural New York. When I asked him he said, "We didn't get to have yearbooks." Hmmm, I think this is just another installment in his never-ending quest to prove his childhood was worse than mine...
Some of the comments were touching and sweet. Reading them now, I wish I would have known more about what was going on behind the Vuarnet sunglasses of my Van-tennis-shoe-wearing contemperaries. In some of them, little stories peek through and remind me how important even the most fleeting relationship can be when you are young.
You can look at my yearbooks up in the photo box to the upper right. Here are some highlights:
Yep, Chip did say I was the prettiest girl in 7th grade but, I found out later in my first lesson in the brutal reality that was adolescent boys, mine wasn't the only yearbook where he made this claim.
Paul Frank Sunich, of Paul Frank...you know...the monkey...yes... you've got it, wanted me to have a "Rad summer," which I think he truly meant.
"You have been the best friend a guy could have. When I first came here you were the first one to make friends with me. I always want us to be friends. You are the BEST! and I mean it." Danny.
"I'm sorry I was so mean to you sometimes. I wish we could have been better friends, but I know it's my fault...PS sorry for being such a jerk." Sean
"I like you because you aren't stuck-up like some people!" Nichole
"In 7th grade we weren't good friends and then in 8th we got to get to be good friends and now we are just friends..." Bridgette
When our class graduated, we choose the song by Styx, "The Best of Times," to accompany us down the aisle. We were the first year to break from the standard, "We've Only Just Begun," by the Carpenters.
I remember when they called my name, my older brothers and all of their friends cheered wildly from the back row. I can still see them jumping, whistling and waving their arms unabashedly in the late afternoon sun. I acted as if I were embarrassed by their show, but deep inside I embraced the great honor of even being acknowledged by high school boys.
"Our memories of yesterday will last a lifetime...these are the best of times!" Yes, they were.