I have big things planned for the blog in December. It'll be my most ambitious blogging project yet with planned entries every day. With that in mind, I'm posting this a little earlier than I had planned because I don't want it to get lost in the middle of all that.
     My anticipation of what high school would be like was based mainly on two things: my parents' high school yearbooks and the popular 80s high school movies of my youth. They made high school seem like a magical place where the good times would constantly be rolling. Everyone would have a car and would be free to come and go as needed, there would be an abundance of after-school activities tailor-made for my interests that would be well-planned and thoroughly enjoyed, teachers would be cool and cut us mature students plenty of slack because we were practically adults, lunch would be frequently enjoyed outside...you get the picture. Unfortunately, my high school experience didn't even come close to my expectations. But, even to this day, when looking at the mementos of my parents' high school days, I can't help but imagine them as idyllic. I like to think my parents had the high school experience we all dream about, minus the whole football captain/head cheerleader thing (not that I ever imagined that as my destiny.)
     Several months ago, for reasons I can't even remember now, my mother brought her scrapbook to my house. After looking at whatever it was that led her to bring it, she told me to keep an eye on it for her since they were about to move and she'd know where it was if it was with me. So, the scrapbook sits in my closet. Every once in a while it will catch my eye and I'll feel compelled to flip through it for some reason. The pages of newspaper clippings (a perk of attending the only high school in a small town), chorus programs, pictures and random pieces of paper tell the story of a girl I wish I could have spent time with. I've had this fascination with my parents' past since I was a little girl, knowing many of their high school friends by name even though I'd never met them (and trying not to act so weirdly excited on the rare occasion I actually did.)  I've never been entirely sure what the root of the fascination is, though I know I've always been interested in people's stories.
     Maybe that's a large part of my particular interest in my parents. The tales told by the scrapbook pages help put into context how a girl named Ann turned into the woman I know as my mother. It's also great to see her as Ann and not "Steve's wife" or "Lori's mom". Because she got married and had children so young, her domestic roles have been at the center of her identity for more than half of her life. Though I've had small glimpses, by nature I have never been able to know my mother outside the realm of wife and mother. That's such a big part of who she is that I'll never truly know what she was like without that. I am happy to say that having her children out of the house for the past few years has helped to remedy that quite a bit. Wait...should I be happy to say that? Um...you know what? Yes, I should. I am happy that she's developed a more free spirit now, even if it's due to the fact that we're not around anymore.
     I've had a difficult time putting into words what I've wanted to say here. I feel like I've done my mother a disservice by only adequately expressing my thoughts. The point I feel like I'm futilely trying to make is that it's much easier to celebrate the life of someone when you remember exactly what that life represents.
     I don't think my mother would mind if I told you that she's going to be 51 on December 6th. As we often say in our family, it's better than the alternative. I think this is a great excuse to delve into the scrapbook one more time and celebrate the woman my mother is and all the great stories she can tell after 51 years. It's a day to recognize my mother for who she is independently - not in relation to her husband or children. There aren't that many opportunities for my mother to have the spotlight all to herself, so I hope I can give her a little of that today. This is all about you, Mom. Happy birthday.

 

 

In high school, my mother was in a singing group called the Magpipes. Here's one of the many newspaper clippings marking one of their community performances.

Here's where my mother got put in the paper for making All-State Chorus. It was a big deal because it was just her and some other guy. I wonder whatever happened to him.

This is a picture of my mom as a contestant in her high school's beauty pageant. She didn't win. Look at my mom. Clearly she was robbed.

 

This is from her high school yearbook's drama club picture.

I think she told me that this picture was of the art club. She doesn't flaunt it, but my mom is a very talented artist.

This is a newspaper clipping from a story about "A Musical Tom Sawyer". My mother played one of the gossipers. This was during the brief period between high school and marriage.

This isn't actually from the scrapbook. This is a picture from last year's production of Fiddler on The Roof. I just wanted to show that Mom's still got it.

Happy birthday, Mom!