Like the corners of my mind

I had to dust off the top of the pie safe in our bedroom today and for some reason I opened the door and looked inside.
The name is a misnomer for there are no pies safely stored inside. Inside are a hundred or so CDs and my yearbooks from high school and college.
Something told me to pick up one of those yearbooks, so I selected 1976 - probably my favorite yearbook from high school.
It didn't occur to me until after I started leafing through the pages that the yearbook is 30 years old. Thirty years. How could I be 30 years away from ninth grade? It feels like - well, not yesterday, but certainly not 30 years ago, either.
Of all my yearbooks, this one is the best because the yearbook staff was led by a free-spirited English teacher - Mike Hippler - who was pretty much fresh out of college. I never had him as a teacher, but he was a friend of my mom who was a guidance counselor when I was in the ninth grade, so I got to know him a little.
Once thing that is for certain is that there was no such thing as being PC in 1976. This particular yearbook not only has great candid shots, but it is full of original writings by students on topics from why the SCA was just a big scam to what it was like hanging out in the smoking area. (Imagine that - a place for students to smoke during the school day!)
When I pulled the yearbook out I thought I would just look at the pictures of a couple of friends. Instead, I experienced a through-the-looking-glass moment. My memories received CPR from this well put together annual and the shaggy-haired guys and mini-skirted girls came to life in my head.
My ninth grade picture highlights my lack of hairstyle, my mouth of braces and my first pair of teardrop-shaped gold-rimmed glasses.
I laughed at the "fashion" section which featured platform shoes and sandals, flare-legged and hip-hugging pants and shirts with wild designs. I'm sure I saw Jessica Simpson wearing something that looked exactly like that in People magazine.
1976 was the year of the bicentennial, but that was barely mentioned. There was a double spread of headlines from that time period - Jimmy Hoffa, Olympics etc.
The Eagles were the favorite band and M*A*S*H was on both the favorite and most hated TV show lists. Everyone loved Robert Redford and Barbra Streisand. And for some reason the yearbook staff thought Monty Python had an extra "e" = Pythone.
I read a lot of the things that my friends wrote on the pages. Many were just the "stay as sweet as you are" type signatures that I garnered from kids I admired, but didn't know well. But some of them were achingly wonderful from real friends - only one I have seen since graduating from high school.
Several kids from high school went to Bridgewater College. One of the guys I had a crush on in the ninth grade ended up going to BC and we stayed friends. He frequently brought me home for the weekends when he went to Covington to see his girlfriend. His ninth grade greeting to me in my yearbook was just so nice for a high school boy. Kevin O'Dell Bailey.
My ninth grade year was also the first time I went out on a date. My first date was in September of 1975. It was wonderful. We went to see one of the Pink Panther movies. He wasn't driving yet, but we lived within walking distance of the movie theater and Grandmom picked me up after the movie.
Jim got his driver's license later and we went out in February of 1976 to a Sadie Hawkins dance at his high school. Jim lived in the city and I lived in the county, so we went to different high schools. I did not want to go to this dance because I was very self-conscious - braces, glasses etc. But he kept calling and I finally caved because I really wanted to see him.
Oddly enough, my mom was out of the state on this particular night. So I borrowed her platform shoes and wore my pink pantsuit. Very hot. I know I saw Jessica Simpson wearing it on MTV the other day. Except my pants had a very high waist and an incredibly flared leg.
It was a great date. We started "going together" after that and dated all the way to Thanksgiving of my senior year. He went to college and met some girl and they both dropped out of school. He really didn't want to go to college. I encouraged him to go because I thought my folks would let me marry him if he was a college grad. Oh well.
I could ramble on like this forever, but I will stop for now.
If you happen to be dusting off your bookshelf, I encourage you to pick up that old yearbook and take a look. There will be some sad stories and some happy ones. Some weird things and it might help you remember a time when what was important to you was radically different from the things that matter now.
Kevin and Jim, Susie and Cindy, Mark and Ruddy, Randy and Calvin. They are a lot clearer in my mind right now. I think I'll park them at a picnic table in my mind and visit them again before they take a bow and drop behind my memory curtain until the next time I run across one of my yearbooks.