In care package #2163 from my mother last week I received my yearbook from 1991-1992. Oh the memories it brought back. I was at a private school in Minneapolis, called Fourth Baptist. It was quite a strict school as far as they go. We wore skirts every day and they had to cover our kneecaps. If they did not cover your kneecaps you had to go to the office and have a secretary give you a school provided skirt. They were amazingly long. Some were not sewn together but Duct taped. I am not even making this up.
I recall during the year when I was a cheerleader (shut up) we were being giggly on the van ride home from a basketball game. Girls and boys did not ride on the same van for that would have created an opportunity for us to speak to one another or be on the same velvet bench seat. Our coach was not a very good driver, and backed into another car while driving us out of the McDonald’s parking lot. Us girls were blamed for her lack of skills. The specific behavior that we exuded that was so sinful was uttering the word, “fart.” Come Monday at after school practice the head-lady-of-something came and spoke to us. She had a painful looking hairdo and wore a lot of polyester. She told us that in her day fart was the same as a swear word. I was shocked. Not because it was considered so awful, because I had assumed that it was a word my generation had developed and here was this sixty year old lady letting us know that she heard it as a kid. Well, we had to stop traveling to away games. For years after that the Jr. High girls were still not allowed to travel. I think that was the extent of our punishment. I remember for the first time ever realizing that authority was wrong and I was not. There had been times when my parents had not rightfully punished me. In my heart I knew they knew I was right at those times. This was different. The school was using a group of 7th graders as a scapegoat for this womans poor choice to reverse in a vehicle she may have not been capable of driving properly in the first place. So, a small part of my innocence died that day. But onto happier things, I scanned some pictures and stuff from out of the yearbook and I would like to share them with you. And you.

BANGS! If you are male, skip this paragraph. You could not possibly understand the meticulous morning time we had in front of the mirror making our forehead hair do strange things. Sometimes I wish they would come back in style just so that I could fix em again. That was fun.

I decided the wrestling team was not happy enough. So, I decided to make smiles for them. Pre-M.S. paint style

This is typing class….on a typewriter. i don’t know that I ever saw a computer in that school. Yes, it was pre- Internet, but still. Typewriter?!?

That’s my sister. She looks so pretty. She had great hair there.

People signed it too. mostly they are funny, and I am glad for that. Here’s the better ones:

That’s from Mr. House. He was my favorite teacher, maybe ever. Amazingly 16 years later I found him on myspace via another student that went to this school. Now Mr. House and his massive kid filled family. He’s rad just because he said I have quite a brain. You have to squint, but it’s there. Cheers Mr. House!

I don’t remember this.

…and finally, here”s someone remembering that day, when my friends and I became the rebellious Jr high girls. No really, that term was used. Which is funny to me know because at ever other school and place I have been I have been looked at as a goody two shoes. So, to everyone who knows me as square, here look:

I was dangerous.