I spent a couple minutes packing up some books today, one of which turned out to be my high school yearbook. It was hidden at the back of a bookcase, sitting sideways behind the more palatable reading material. “Why don’t you get rid of that?” Leah asked. That wouldn’t actually pain me too greatly, but in this day and age, you never know when you’re going to want to dig up a yearbook to remind yourself what the latest starlet/junkie/serial killer was like back in 1989. To whit:
That’s right, not one, but two students wielding firearms on the front cover. The cover! And there’s even the extra bonus of a gagged hostage. And a black trench coat. That’s one of the arts “faculty” there fourth in from the right with the “oy vey” pose (he and I almost came to blows one day in the hall outside his classroom, but I never pulled a gat on him). And over there on the far left? The principal. This is ten years before Columbine. We always were cutting edge.