I remember....

.....being thirteen, in Mr. Clayton's eighth grade class. I remember it well. My braces came off that year. My bra size had enlarged considerably. I started wearing mascara. I went steady with Mike Whitley, a blond and blue-eyed cutie pie. It lasted two weeks. LOL

I remember my P.E. teacher was a tiny woman who loved my shoes. I started wearing little heels that year, even to P.E. She announced it, out loud, in front of the whole class. It was her lesson on 'dressing like a lady', our 'woman' talk about growing up. I certainly did look grown up. My poor father turned grey that year.

Everything was so important back then. When our class graduated from the eighth grade I threw a party...a big party ...only a handful of kids showed up at the school dance inside the cafeteria, much to the disappointment of many PTA mothers who, I'm sure, worked very hard on putting it together. Yes, we stole the dance. Our backyard was full of kids, dancing, eating, sneaking out to the back garden to be away from the chaparone's eyes. Back then your friends were more important than family, it seemed. Certainly, they were way cooler.

As I sit here, forty-two years later, I can still feel the fabric of the dress I wore that night. I can't tell you were I put my keys five minutes ago....but that yellow dress I sewed in Home Economics is as clear to me as if were hanging in my closet this moment. The ring Mike gave me could still be on my finger, wrapped in pink yarn. >smiles<

That was the year I first went to The Hollywood Bowl. Yes, I was innocent in the school year of 64/65. We all were. Thousands of girls were screaming and pulling out their hair. The boys were just as out of control. You couldn't hear the music but it didn't matter. You could see them. They were there, live and in person, The Beatles, young and innocent themselves. It was a good year.