A while back I was digging through some old high school stuff to find a copy of my high school’s literary journal. They’d just sent the latest version home with Justin, and it said it was the “13th annual” journal. Nope, I thought, it’s the 14th annual one, because I was the editor of the first. In 1989.

While digging for this journal (which I found) I came up with some funky memories. Certificates from state band competition, regional band competition, honor roll, all the usual junk. A letter from the very first “love of my life” when he was away at some camp for super-brainiacs. (When he returned he dumped me on my ass, so I’m less than sentimental about that!) Clippings of my friends in the local newspaper, programs from musicals and plays because all my friends were ‘drama fags.’

A note on the ‘drama fags’: Pattonville, my lovely high school, was segregated (by choice) by the activities one chose to participate in. For example: if you were by nature a stoner, you tended to take a lot of shop classes and hang out on the first floor near the shop wing (which also had a very convenient side door to slip out of for the mid-day smoke). If you were involved in sports of any sort, or poms or cheerleading, you tended to hang out (and have your locker) in the hall by the cafeteria, also known as Jock Hall. This particular hallway was the only accessable locker location for people who had practice of whatever kind after school. So. The ‘drama fags’ had lockers in Drama Hall, which housed the band classes, vocal classes, drama classes, and speech and debate classes. This was my home.

Junior year, however, our new auditorium opened, and suddenly it was a six-flight drop into the basement of the auditorium to get to class. I swear I had the best legs on the planet, because we all stayed in Drama Hall anyway.

Continuing on through stuff…

Band trip memories, cool notes from friends, my first driver’s license application. My “Biggest Gossip” award in 1986, 1987, 1988, and, yes, 1989 - in band. Band was like my family, and I was the one to keep the information flowing. My friend Doug used to say the three best forms of communication were: “telephone, telegraph, and tell Michelle.”

I have the program from my cousin’s wedding, plus a little bag for cake that they had imprinted. I didn’t remember I had that! I have my junior year research paper, where I researched my theory that astrological personality profiles are actually true. (Oddly enough, I was right.) I ended up with an A.

I have news articles about Carol and my ex-best-friend Erin. Carol was a swimmer, Erin was on poms. The three of us had a very love-hate relationship. Erin and I were inseparable, except when we hated each other with a passion. And Carol loved us both and hated being in the middle.

Then 1988 came, and just about every single friend I had left for college. And every single letter they sent was saved. I cried like a baby on the seniors’ last day that year. It was like my heart was broken forever. The letters weren’t enough to heal it.

Senior year, and all the Dan-stuff. Then graduation. We were the 53rd graduating class at Pattonville High School. I saved two graduation cards - one from my cousin and one from my very favorite teacher ever on the planet (who I really, really need to call to say hello). I think this particular teacher has very little idea of how much she meant to me. And I also don’t think this particular cousin realizes that, because she went to Southwest Missouri State University, I didn’t even bother looking at any other schools. I didn’t even visit Southwest until I’d already applied and been accepted. Weird.

One of the funniest things I came across was the final issue of the “Pirate Press” (our school newspaper) from 1988. This was the senior class filled with 90% of my friends. Reading it all was too funny. There was a write-up on my second-favorite teacher, an economics and history teacher who had big huge Doors and Led Zepplin and Jimi Hendrix banners hanging on his walls. (At the time, that was my music.)

The seniors wrote “wills” and cracked me up. My childhood friend Holly left me a surprise note: “DJ - worm cemetery GH best of childhood memories” (GH is General Hospital, and worm cemetery was when we start burying all the sidewalk-fried worms we found in her back yard.) Carol’s was typical of one of the most wonderful people on the planet: “MD - faded roses and all the hope in the world.” My friend Doug left me: “MD - mental health.” My buddy Dave left me this note: “MSD - get thee to a nunnery!”

Eye-rolling moment: When I found a quote by M. in the paper. It’s like, oh yeaaaah, he did go to my school for a year, didn’t he? (How could I forget, when he was named Class of 88’s “Class Heartthrob”?) He was quoted saying one of his favorite memories was winning state in 110 high hurdles at another high school in another state - which is funny, because he didn’t. Shock.

Ooh, found my senior will. In it I left to my aforementioned favorite English teacher in the entire world “Dennis Quaid, organization & lots of thanks.” She has the hots for Quaid. Too funny.

It was a weird four years, and you couldn’t offer me all the money in the world to make me go back. But if I look past all the depression and angst and drama, broken hearts and broken friendships, and all the other miscellaneous crap, I really had a sweet time!

Sorting through memories,

michelle