Okay, now I’m excited.
The comps arrived in the mail and are lined up like black-backed soldiers. I’ll donate one to each of the libraries, one to everyone who helped me get things right and provided photos. All wrong things in the memoir are mine. I should have said that in the book. I’m going home to Mississippi to read. It’s still home, though I’ve been gone four decades. In the South, home is where you born, even if you left the next day.
I was looking at my high school annual last night, bringing back faces–not that anyone will look the same. My husband said, “They all look so mature.” We did, especially the guys. The seniors in R.O.T.C. two years ahead of us were pulled out of school before graduation and sent off to fight the Korean war. We had reason to be serious.
Exercise: Take a look at your high school annual and draw some conclusions about the faces there, the hairstyles, the tilt of the head, the words underneath the photos. Make up a story about who became what. Surprise yourself.