Yearbooks have come a long way. I still remember my first one- a glossy, paper tome with a chalkboard on the front, bearing in a child-like chalk font the name of my school and some wax-inspirational slogan designed for a second grader to comprehend. Presented with these on one of the last days of school, my wide-eyed peers and I would eagerly pass them around to one another, begging for everyone to write some sort of message as if they would never see us again. "Have a great summer", perhaps. "Your (sic. in an attempt to showcase the not yet developed grammatical skills of a young child) really nice and fun!"
Fast-forward seven years, a la a Hollywood coming-of-age film, and these much-exalted yearbooks have quadrupled in size, their covers going from paper to glossy cardboard, their contents going from class pictures, a few posed playground shots, and the "student council" to a myriad of clubs, musical performances, sports teams, senior pictures, and candid shots, some well-taken and some blurry. The messages penned inside them have changed, too: long, heartfelt notes full of inside jokes and memories, focusing on the past, rather than the years ahead, which I theorize to be because of many high schoolers' fear of the future. Yes, sir or ma'am: the high school year book is quite a different beast.
Despite the changing nature of these memory-filled volumes, however, one thing has stayed irreversibly similar- my ability (or lack thereof, rather) to write in them.
Whenever someone approaches me with his or her yearbook with the intention of my signing it, I am, at first, flattered. After all, one doesn't ask just anyone to write in something he or she may show to his or her children one day. Usually, the yearbooks I sign belong to three "classes", if you will:
- A very close friend who I've known for over five years and have shared many secrets and jokes with
- A friend who I am able to laugh with, but I have either a.) not shared any secret jokes with or b.) do not feel comfortable with talking about some subjects. Possibly both.
- Someone who I only know in passing- perhaps he or she sits near me in a class, or I always see him or her in the hallways before third period
Perhaps I mistitled this post- really, when it comes to the first and third classes I listed, I usually have no trouble formulating a message. With my first class messages, the real issue comes up in thinking of inside jokes to incorporate into them! You know that Relatable Post? "Whenever someone asks me what my favorite movie is, I always forget every movie I've ever seen"? It's very much like that. Because of the longevity of these messages, I tend to go to a blank page in the front or back of the yearbook to write them.
As for the third class, well, that's easy. A "have a great summer" ("H.A.G.S." for those who wish to keep it short) or "[insert grade you'll be in next year] is going to be awesome!" is almost always sufficient.
So, there we go. Not a lot of problems there. But, it's the second class that gives me some grief.
For, you see, I know these people- but not well enough to put in a joke or fun memory. I tend to think of a compliment I can pay next, but I'm not very good at these when being put on the spot. Just the other day, for instance, I told a girl I only know from church and my gym class that I liked her dress. That same day, when writing in the yearbook of a girl in the viola section of my orchestra, I wrote this (if I can remember): "You're so funny and nice- stay that way." How commanding does that sound? Who am I to force someone to keep the same personality?
Maybe I'm making too big of a deal over this. I mean, despite the whopping $40 cost for a yearbook, just how much will my peers treasure their yearbooks much after their senior year? Most may not even remember me, let alone what I wrote in their book.
As soon as I start thinking about this, however, I am reminded of the many signatures enscribed in my mother's senior class yearbook. Some have rude words, others have inside jokes, others long, poignant notes I've never attempted to read in full.
If they're this important to her- and to me, as someone who was curious about her life in high school -then who's to say I shouldn't make an effort to write something memorable?
It's a skill I hope to perfect in my next three years of school.
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