Twenty Years Ago

Where were you twenty years ago today?

I was here.

Oddly enough, that is the only photo of the day I can get my hands on right now, because I never finished my graduation day scrapbook and I don't know which storage box has the pictures! But my friend Jennifer posted this one on Facebook a while back, so I'll use that.

Yes, twenty years ago this very day, it was a hot Sunday, and I wore a long navy blue dress {that I so dearly loved because it felt like jammies}, pumped my permed hair as high as it would go, and used a thousand bobby pins to hold that graduation cap in place. I put on the heavy robe that looked as though it had been made from duct tape, and gathered in the high school gym with my 80 fellow graduates to walk across a stage and complete a 13 year era of education.

I went back to the trusty journal to see what I wrote about this auspicious occasion, and cracked myself up, because my opening line, under 5/19/96 said, Actually I didn't write all this on the actual day, but I'll date it that way. OCD started early, I see.

I'd started the day by going to church, where I signed a song in front of the church. Hey, that may be a little blog-known fact about me. I took sign language lessons in high school and learned songs to sign, which became my version of special music. I also find it humorous that I was too terrified to stand in front of less than 100 people and say "Thanks for my spiritual foundation" so the friend of mine who actually sang so I could sign said it for me. Nothing says "prepared for adulthood" like a trembling teenager who nods while someone beside her says, "Rebekah would like to thank you for being so supportive these last eighteen years."

Who knew I would one day get paid to talk in front of people?

Anyway. Back to the journal.

According to it, I survived my signing with only a couple minor mistakes. Let's hope in the world of signing, they were minor enough that I didn't accidentally sign something offensive.

And then, on to the ceremony. I summed it up this way: It was so hot! I was extremely nervous. But I didn't pass out.

That's it. A whole ceremony to celebrate thirteen years of educational stress and success, and I was about to enroll as a writing major, and all I could come up with was It was so hot! I was extremely nervous. But I didn't pass out.

I didn't say this in the journal, but I remember praying a specific prayer the morning of my graduation. I wanted, more than anything to enjoy that day. Though my lackluster memory keeping says otherwise, I did recognize the significance of that day, and I wanted to savor every moment, starting with church and ending with the senior fling that night. Prone to anxiety since early childhood, I knew there would be a good chance I'd be so scared at church and at graduation, that I wouldn't remember or enjoy any of it. And I prayed that would not be the case. I wanted to capture the moments and love them.

Contrary to what the journal says, I did just that.

Our chairs were arranged in the shape of a 96, with the class officers' chairs serving as the quote marks. {This was lost on everyone sitting on low bleachers.} My chair was the bottom of the nine, and I sat next to one of our exchange students, Tatiana from Brazil.

I walked across the stage three times that day. Once to receive a School Board scholarship, once to receive the American Legion award {both these tidbits are per the journal} and once to receive my diploma.

Our class was the first to not be able to select who gave us our diploma. There had been a tradition for I'm not sure how many years that allowed students to choose an influential teacher to hand them their diplomas. The administration said that was going to change, and we protested it. We were told that it didn't matter, because years down the road, we wouldn't remember who gave us our diploma.

Bill Heck handed me mine. {And if I couldn't choose a teacher who influenced me, there was not another soul on that school board who I would have rather had hand me my diploma. I know each board member just took a turn and he happened to get me, but it mattered to me then, it matters to me now, and I'm glad he got my row.}

And somewhere in that hot gym full of graduates, parents, and friends, was a dimple-bearing junior who would make me his wife in a mere sixteen years.

I went home after graduation, and my family gathered to host an open house, where a steady stream of friends, family, fellow students, teachers, and a host of church family came to celebrate with me. I loved that party so much.

And then, after all the cake was cleaned up, the gifts pushed to one side, and the balloons deflated, I went back to school for the senior fling. It was the first and last extracurricular party I attended in my educational career. I mostly wandered around with friends, and according to the journal, came home home with a fifty dollar savings bond, sixteen dollars in cash, and a bunch of mugs and cups. My parents lifted my curfew for that night, and I stayed out until 4:30 in the morning, going home with my friend Amber, who lived just around the corner. {Mom and Dad did NOT want me out driving in the middle of the night.} I crashed on Amber's floor until almost noon, when I shook myself awake and drove home.

So that was my day. A day of enjoyment, thanksgiving, celebration, and much love. And big hair. Really, really big hair.

That was twenty years ago for me. Hot gyms, big hair, a hidden future husband, and a mysteriously beautiful future ahead.