I rediscovered my high school yearbook the other day. I actually have four of them, one for each year, as well as two from middle school at McKnight in Renton, Washington.
Though I’ve left tons of stuff behind in the various domiciles I have moved out of, been kicked out of or run for my life from, I have continued to haul these monstrosities around, for what reason I am never sure.
As I pulled my senior yearbook out of the bookshelf, however, it suddenly occurred to me that it would have been cool to have a yearbook for each year of my life since. I only wished I had thought of it way back in the day and that modern tools such as iPhoto, which allows you to do this quickly and easily, had been around.
I can just picture these now, 35 yearbooks filled with memories, candid photos and the inevitable scribblings of so called lifelong friends who you never hear from again. At least until you find them on Facebook.
While I am not sure what promises I have made in their books, I do have records of what they promised in mine. If you’re reading this and you promised to call me, I am still waiting.
Bob Moore was our high school newspaper artist. A fantastic artist who was obsessed with Elton John. He promised to “get together a small party of revolutionaries and sail to the Island of Walta Dalta… and breed [the savages] there until I had 500,000 war hungry savages and then I would sail back to the States and kill and maim everybody I saw until the whole continent was a shambles…”
Bob, I’m still waiting for the savages to arrive. And you never did become King of the World as a result. But you probably could sue James Cameron for stealing your line in Titanic.
Sue Artholony wrote, “You know you shouldn’t blame me for you getting that leg cramp in your leg, it wasn’t my fault.” What a coincidence Sue. I just forgave you last week for that, and I did “have a good time out of school” but I didn’t necessarily “stay out of trouble.”
Heather wrote, “I think you are an excitably, wonderful person and I like you tremendously. I know that I can absolutely trust you anyplace – you are always a gentleman…” Well, as our ensuing marriage showed I didn’t live up to you high and possibly misguided expectations of me. Sorry, I may have misled you.
Mike Sandall must have had a crystal ball back then. “Robb, I don’t believe you are completely sane…” He should have become a therapist. I could have used him.
I must have been a funny guy back then.
Chris Koura wrote, “It will be quiet around here without all your wisecracks. I know one person who’ll be GLAD you are leaving… Right! Magnuts.” That would be Mr. Magnus on my list of Facebook friends, by the way. I still hear from him but not my one time BFF, Chris. But she predicted that with her, “Maybe I’ll see you around, maybe I won’t” comment. Chris, I’m sorry that I made the “You know, if you wanted to molest a dog” comment in Bellingham. I wasn’t referring to you. At least I don’t think I was. Call me!
My other BFF, Cheryl Haglund, wrote on the facing page from Chris in my yearbook. I had a big crush on her and we’ve since caught up on Classmates. Cheryl wrote, “Years just don’t go slow enough sometimes, it seems.” As we’ve both found out since Cheryl, I think you’d agree that those were the really slow years. Now they move by like days.
Ross Lambert (I know you’re on my Facebook friends), wrote, “I am truly amazed by your patience! Being editor is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Contrary to popular belief, you were a heckuva an editor.”
Well, thanks Ross, I think I still am, too. But you were the first to recognize my potential, even though I spent most of my time in the Highlife newspaper office making out with girls, not editing.
I guess I was a good student back then. Rick Hanson remarked, “As for biology, you are too smart. You always raise the curve. In Spanish I can barely keep up with you.”
Well, Rick, take heart, unless I’ve downed three or four shots of tequila, I can’t speak a lick of Spanish outside of “Una mas cerveza por favor, senorita” these days. It was all for naught.
Of course, a few of my teachers also chimed in.
Mr. Magnuts, uh, Magnus, wrote, “How are you going to adjust not having me to hassle this summer, next year, etc., etc.? I have enjoyed your sense of humor and your academic ability. Have a fantastic future.”
Well, Mr. Magnus, it’s been a pretty good future so far, at least up to the point of the present. I confess to having to copy off my lab partner’s paper in college chemistry. I guess biology was really my bag in the science world and I can thank you for that, even though I ended up being a writer. And hey, I can still hassle you on Facebook these days.
Mr. Gleason, another favorite teacher never signed my yearbook. Mr. Gleason, if you’re reading this, I am still waiting. How about signing it virtually on Facebook and I will just pen it into the yearbook in abstentia.
Ah, Mrs. Robinson, my Spanish teacher. She wrote, “Ojala que puedo continuar estudiancio espanol. Que te vaya bien en toda el futuro. Ven a verme el ano que vieve.”
I confess that back then I never knew what you said. But thanks to Babelfish I was able to finally know what you thought of me.
This is what I came up with there: “Hopefully you can continue to study Spanish. Have a good day in everything in the future. The anus that you are.”
Anus, huh? Really! Well, guess who got crossed off my annual card mailing and isn’t getting a tarjeta de Navidad from me this year. Don’t bother looking in your mailbox for senora! Ain’t happening!!!
Out on the Treasure Coast wondering what people would say to me these days… oh wait, we have Facebook for that,
– Robb