I realize that it isn't because I lack things to say that my blog has taken a backseat. Or perhaps it's not the only reason. It's all because of TWITTER. That's why it takes 800 months (that's for you, Goblinbox) to post something! So, why am I posting today? Because. Twitter. Is. Down. See how that played out? It's a true story. I have, already, become a lazy blogger due to micro-blogging. Therefore, no blame can really be placed upon me. It is the convenience of the interwebz fault.
As discussed in the previous blog, I have moved. I have moved back to my home town, or one of them anyway. It's the tiny town of Burbank Washington. Now, I will give you a story and pictures.
I first moved to Burbank in 1989. That's right! I am that old. Moving on. I was a freshman. I had gone to about 8 schools from the 6 grade to the 8th grade. We moved alot. So, when I was forced to move to this tiny little town from the Seattle area. I made my mom promise we would stay at least 2 years. I lived right down the street from the High School.
It's been remodeled since my days of roaming the halls but still the same at heart. I remember my very first day. I had come from a much larger school in a much larger city. I didn't think I would like it there at all. What would I have in common with "farm kids". Turns out. Some of the best people I have ever known in my life, I met at that school, in 1989. I'm not sure if that is because I remember them the way I want to or if the majority of people that have been in my life since then just simply suck. The first day though. Hmmm. It was different. I met a girl in gym class that would ask me questions and after I'd answer she say, "Bitchin!" Seriously. After. Everything. I. said. Now she is world traveled and very classy. Go figure. *shrug* But the best people for me. Well, they were the "corner club" or so dubbed. We all gathered at the corner to talk and smoke (some of us). Labeled by some "the bad kids". Really, we weren't that bad. We didn't join a lot of clubs. We were our own. We accepted each other for who and what we were. For better or worse.
By my senior year, I crossed lines in the cliques and talked to everyone that talked to me. I found out that the "preps", "jocks", "brains", "bad kids" and all the other labels that were in existence at the time, were just kids, like me.
I still talk to several of them and wonder what happened to others. I met my very, best friend at this school, in this town. We've been friends 20 years. I have reconnected with friends I haven't seen in 15 years. As my son says, "It makes my heart smile." And what of the people I have lost contact with? I will always have love for them.
I don't know which hand belongs to which one of the 63 members of my senior class. And it doesn't matter. What mattered was that we were there, together. If only for that one day in 1993.
Now my kids are going to school here. I don't know why I am having such an emotional reaction to moving back here. But I am. Maybe, I hope that my children will make the kind of friendships I made here. So, I decided that I will try to stay here until they graduate. I know I am grateful to my mother for allowing me to stay all four years.