24 years ago

I’ve been watching the last few days of my son’s time in high school unfold this week.  And I can’t help but reflect.   I think I’m beginning to see what really old people are talking about when they say how young they feel inside, that it’s just their bodies that are aged.  I understand.  When I happen to find myself in the kids’ high school, it’s like the years fade away and I’m transported back, it all comes to mind so effortlessly.  And then I remember my wrinkles and the gray hairs that are more or less camouflaged for the moment, and I straighten myself and sigh.  I’m the mother here.  I almost can’t get over it.  And I wonder for the 6,000^th time how on earth I got here.

I was a senior in high school 1989-1990.  I know you know what I mean when I say it feels like both a million moons ago and like it was just last year.  The memories of yesterday and from 24 years ago reside almost side by side.  The recall is a little fuzzy in places, but it’s all there.  It was surreal being the mom in the senior awards assembly a couple of weeks ago.  Because I had to sit with the parents.  I couldn’t help but photo-shop faces of my classmates I’d known years ago onto the kids that were getting their certificates.  I swore I even recognized a few. 

In the same vein, I can’t help but compare my senior year to Andrew’s because in a lot of ways they weren’t that different.  Just a few years apart really.  History repeats itself and I smile remembering what it was like.  Because in so many ways his life reminds me of what mine used to look like. 

Seniors these days are still trading little wallet-sized pictures of each other, writing similar sentiments on the backs.  I still have a few of my friends’ in my scrapbook.  The girls all had a pretty homogeneous look, only then we took pains to create long, puffy, permed manes, contrasted with today’s more subdued locks.  Kids still want their individuality to stand out, but they do it in groups.  Kind of nonsensicle.   I noticed senior standouts comparable to what we had while browsing through his yearbook—which is beautiful by the way.  And a close resemblance to the ones I own; even the scribblings inside about hanging out this summer, glad we got to know each other.  Warms my heart that some traditions continue to live on.  In a few ways life hasn’t changed all that much. 

Like a lot of teens, we both drove little cars without much substance that saw a lot of road time.  And flesh wounds. We never cared if we got dings or scrapes.  He’s had a broken windshield for as long as I can remember.  The driver door is bashed in from when a friend slid into it while backing up on the ice.  The one I drove only came with a heater, no air conditioning or even a radio.  I’d drive in every direction on San Diego freeways, just as he’s driven to the mountains for years, each basking in our independence and the luxury of having the roads to ourselves in the wee morning hours. 

Partly because of our escapades, neither one of us could ever make it to bed early.  Always too many distractions or late night activities or work.  He’s not home much anymore, neither was I by this point.  We kind of just checked in.  I made it through high school in a fog; I don’t remember much from most of my classes.  He gets up just after 5, same as I did; never really feeling fully rested.  But his recall is so much better.  Even if he is always tired. 

Neither one of us ever did homework at the kitchen table; we just always did our physics and geometry to alternative background music in our bedrooms.  I don’t know how we managed to get anything done, the music was so loud.  We both kind of liked our math, but studied a lot less than we should’ve.  We both ended up with decent grades, far from valedictorians, but neither one caring enough to give more than we did. 

Music has always defined a generation, and it was just as important to me at that time as it is to him and the others now.  I’d shop for particular songs just like he does.  Only I’d buy a single 45 rpm record at Tower Records instead of online.  Funny that they were each still just over a dollar.  We’d make compilations of songs we liked too; ours were just a little trickier because we’d have to have our tape prepped (in our tape recorder/radio combo) in record mode with the pause button ready to release at any moment the right song was played on the radio.  So annoying if the deejay talked over the intro or end.  Kids these days have it so easy.

Neither of us also never held a real job all through high school.  I cleaned houses on my own; he’s mowed lawns and made knives to earn money.  Although I did clean my uncle’s dental office; I guess that was kind of official, in that I got a check and a pay stub.  But it wasn’t like I interviewed for it.  Strangely enough, the same kind of job just recently landed in his lap (cleaning a dental office for a friend of ours).  Interesting, now that I think about it.

The phone was just as key back then as it is now.  I was on mine all the time, same as kids today. We just talked more. 

Proms haven’t even changed much.  Still get together in large groups, have a nice dinner either at a house or restaurant, lots of pictures.  A little time at the dance.  Even the dresses aren’t too much different, some styles are a little longer, but kind of funny to see trends repeating themselves.

We were both in track and even ran the same races.  I’m sure my experience with athletics will come up another time, but as much as I disliked running, it hit me earlier this year that maybe a reason for it all was so I’d have a way to connect with a 17 year old son down the road some 20 years later.  I almost cried when I thought of it in that context.  And knew all the humiliation and embarrassment was worth it, just so I’d have a little something in common with my future son.

We took similar classes because we both wanted to get into BYU.  We took some fun ones along the way; he did some art and jewelry; I did some sociology and male/female roles types.  Just takes me back in time hearing about chemistry and physics and algebra, and I feel for him.  But it was worth it for both of us; we can’t wait to hear what he thinks about college.  We both had declared majors and a rough idea of what we wanted our futures to look like, but I know he’s about as unsure of it all as I was.  I don’t know that he’ll stick with his major; I changed mine a couple of times and I think he might too. Which is fine.  Who really knows what they want to do for the rest of their life at this age?

So yeah, maybe the world was a little different, but life in general hasn’t changed much.  We worked a little, did what we could at school, hung out with friends, went to church and spent some time with our families.  We’ve told him that so many times.  We get it.  We really were his age not that long ago.  Like most of you at this stage, we straddled the line that seemed to blur more every day, uncertain if we were still kids or if we were more like grown-ups.  In a million small ways, we’ve been there.  And I think someday when he has kids of his own it’ll all come back to him, and he’ll remember all over again what it was like to be 17.