’78 is Great!

“One-Nine-Seven-Eight, nineteen seventy-eight!” In my mind’s ear, I can still hear the chants, cheerleaders spurring on my class at pep rallies, sweaty adolescents screaming in unison.

It’s no secret that time passes, that it seems to speed up as you age, that it runs in only a single direction. With all of that in mind…

I found my old high school yearbooks the other day (emphasis on old). We’re talking 1974-78, so a few years back. The very first Star Wars movie and bellbottoms and Watergate and the Bee Gees and the birth of Saturday Night Live. If you need a refresher, go watch some Wonder Years.

A few observations from thumbing through the yearbooks. Some faces I saw, I immediately knew the names. That’s Connie Carter! I’d think. Look at Polly! Hey, there’s Kelvin and his pencil-thin mustache. Patty’s big smile. I was time-traveling from the quiet of my office.

Now, if you asked me particular questions about my classmates without a yearbook on my lap, chances are excellent I’d reply with a blank stare. The pics rapid-fired synapses that hadn’t fired in years and boom! Not just names, but nicknames. Zeke and Star Child and AB and Mitch and Ape Man. Weird how the memory works.

Most of those people are frozen in time. But they’re not teenagers now, not even close. Those who are still alive are mostly retired grandparents, no longer fresh-faced, paunch- free, and in search of a Disco Inferno. Like me, they are now in their 60’s, and the faces sort of resemble the images in the yearbook photos, if you squint your eyes real tight.

I haven’t seen the vast majority of the class of ’78 in fifty years. Fifty! Thus, my mind returns to those 1970’s images if I think of them. It’s all I have. As a result of Facebook or seeing a few of them when I visit Atwater, I have updated some of the images. But mostly not. They’re still kids in my brain.

The other thing I noticed in my dance down memory lane is I no longer look at my former classmates as friends and peers. When I open the ’78 Atwater High School Gauntlet, I see lots of young people. But here’s the weird part: because I’ve taught young folks since 1985, I now view those pictures of classmates as if I were their teacher.

That provides a surreal quality to reviewing my yearbook as I blend eras from my past. There’s Dennis, kind of a goofball, but the type of kid I love having in class. He is harmless and funny and brings energy every day. Or Karen, an excellent student. She is my barometer for a test. If she scores poorly, it’s a lousy test. She also listens when I talk.

Ah, then there’s Carl. Gotta watch that guy. Not a serious student, I’ll have to ride him to the end of the semester. Jenny, sweet girl, smart, she’ll add to discussions. Joe, poor family, tough situation–don’t lose track of him. Jeff, smart guy, leader, he’ll not only follow the lessons, he’ll bring others with him. Larry, a try-hard athlete, a guy I can talk to about sports. Obviously, I never thought of them that way when we were in high school.

But on and on it went. I pondered how much fun I’d have teaching them. Partiers and wrestlers, band nerds and science geeks, the obnoxious, the shy and even the trouble-makers. Bring ’em on! Romanticized? Definitely. But I think teaching them would have been a gas.

My brain began to chase rabbits even further.

I examined the Speech and Debate squads and drafted students to my mythical Debate Team. Let’s say I can hand-pick eight. Whom do I choose and whom do I omit? Tough calls. But I was convinced. If you give me eight students, that team could do some serious verbal carnage. We’re talking beaucoup medals and trophies, a top-3 finisher at State.

Same for my imaginary AP Lit class. Let’s choose ten scholars. I imagined the discussions I could have had. Hamlet, The Odyssey, and Heart of Darkness. Holy cats, that would have been a time! You get a class like that, and it’s real teaching, the kind you dream about as an educator. We’re talking a group full of 4’s and 5’s on the AP test.

Then I saw my yearbook photos. From year to year, my hair grew a bit longer, moving from the military cut to a more typical 70’s look, long fluffy brown hair. A pretty serious face throughout the years.

And then I wondered how it would have been teaching a guy like me. Quiet and compliant, I’d never cause problems (unlike some of my siblings’ antics, but that’s another blog post). But I know I frustrated my teachers, and high school student Mike would have frustrated Mr. Hurley on a daily basis. I was smart but didn’t talk, didn’t volunteer, didn’t participate. I mean never.

But the teacher me (Mr. Hurley not Mike), Mr. Hurley would have gone after that reluctant student. Quietly, before and after class, small asides here and there, I’d try to crack that shell. I gotta tell you, he would have been a tough nut to crack. Mr. Hurley would go after that guy because I know there’s a lot more than shows on the surface.

The success of Mr. Hurley in that situation is mere speculation. My professional confidence/arrogance makes me think I’d create a bridge with that quiet kid named Mike.

This post isn’t about regrets or some impossible desire to revisit my past. No thanks. It’s certainly not my version of Glory Days. Some things are best seen through a lens of years. And some things are best left in the past.

Call this the musings of a teacher on summer break.

Jimmy Buffet’s Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Attitudes comes to mind. If you don’t know the song, give it a listen. Here’s his conclusion:

Oh, yesterdays are over my shoulder
So I can’t look back for too long
There’s just too much to see waiting in front of me
And I know that I just can’t go wrong.

I don’t usually take my life cues from parrot-heads, but I think Buffet got this one right. My delve into my high school years was a diversion, a chance to ponder the what-ifs of life and catch a glimpse of me. The past, as they say, is a place to visit, but I wouldn’t want to live there. Even at 65 (that sounds like a BIG number), there’s just too much waiting in front of me.

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