True confession time: I threw away all my high school yearbooks.
Actually, I may have mentioned that already. Oh well. Memory, the first thing to go. Right before… that other thing. I don’t know. I forget.
Where was I? Oh, right. Yearbooks. Homer’s post today about graduating from high school (and Becky’s ongoing Legacy Writing posts) made me realize today that I graduated from high school 25 years ago. My classmate Michael Stachura (hi, Mike!) also posted a photo on Facebook of the class of 2012 from my school, Lackey High School.
Oh yes, laugh if you must about the name. The school was named after a naval officer, Rear Admiral Henry E. Lackey—one of the yearbooks during my time even featured a spread of Admirable Lackey Rears. (No, I am not making that up and no, mine was not included in that feature. I never wore jeans that fit.) Anyway, the school was eventually renamed, I believe, Admiral Lackey High School, which makes it sound like a military academy but is still an improvement.
Anyway, Mike’s photo of the 2012 graduating class made me realize how little I remember of my graduation itself. At that point I was just dying to get the hell out of high school and the hell out of southern Maryland. I’ve only been back twice since then—once for the 10-year reunion and once in 2007 while visiting my friend Holly (who now lives in Baltimore, which is far away from southern Maryland in more ways than one). Honestly, I don’t miss it, but I do sometimes think about what I could have done better or differently at that time in my life. I end up realizing that if it hadn’t worked out the way it did, I wouldn’t be where I am now, which is not a bad place to be.
Honestly, how many threads can you pull out of the tapestry before the whole picture falls apart? Which, paradoxically, is kind of why I threw away the yearbooks, to resist the temptation to dwell.
And besides, my hairstyles in the ’80s? Oh, honey.