All the yearbooks from my years at Wells High School--7th grade through 12th--are about as thick as Adam's yearbook from his senior year. My little yearbooks may be scanty and they may have low production quality, but they are highly entertaining.
One Sunday afternoon, we pulled them out and perused their offerings. Adam grabbed the nearby camera and started taking pictures of us.
|This may have been when they saw a picture of Enoch in his seventh grade basketball picture. "He's all limbs!" In the dictionary, under gangly, there's a picture of Enoch's seventh grade basketball picture. (I'll wait here while you go check.)|
|We confirmed that it's not a recent thing, I've never been photogenic. Also, they couldn't believe how many cousins I went to school with. "Was everyone related to you?" ( just the fabulous ones.)|
|Let me tell you though, Wells High School in the late 80s and early 90s was one hilarious place. Especially when Braeden's commentary is applied.|
Some memories make me cringe (How could I be so stupid?), some memories bring back sadness, but most of my memories, I am thankful to say, are happy memories.
It is lovely to be able to retrieve and savor my grandparents' red brick house, my loving father-in-law who was a spectacular grandpa, summer moonlit nights driving home with my sisters from our waitressing jobs. Gone now, but steadfast in my memory.