12th Grade

12^th Grade

I remember walking up to the photography studio the end of August. This is it, the beginning of the end. The start of my senior year. What was I supposed to feel? I wished someone would tell me.

I also wish someone had told me not to wear that blouse. Sheesh! Now, decades later, I ask myself—couldn’t I have found something more interesting? I had no idea how important a final picture would be, that this might be the one to define me. I must have thought it would be like anything else.

The humidity that morning was thick. With thin hair such as mine, it was hard to give it body, a soul, The heavy air acted like gravity and weighted it down. I had a hard time getting my bangs to appear effortlessly flyaway without falling flat into my eyes.

My whole last year in high school I was continually disappointed by how boring and complacent my life was in what should have been a monumental time. I was always expecting more.

Bob Staley took me to my first and last high school dance when he volunteered to take me to Homecoming. At the end of the evening I mulled the experience over to realize I hadn’t been missing much. Still, I’m thankful.

And, so my public school career wound to a close. After graduating I turned in my cap and gown and kept the tassel and tossed it over the rearview mirror of my Bug. I had no idea what would happen next.