Give Thanks...For The Memories

 A week ago several of my past high school classmates met and celebrated forty years since we were all required--by law--to be together for organized public education.

Forty years.

I did not attend the reunion. 

Not that I didn't want to attend, but because they changed the date from the summer to a weekend in September, I had work conflicts. Bummer. It would have been fun to go and spend time with such wonderful people.

Many who attended posted photos and memories on social media. One Facebook friend posted a link to his cache of high school photos. He was our school photographer and he did a fantastic job. It's amazing to think that all those photos were taken on film, film that had to be developed...it was pretty pricey. Now, you can take a thousand photos basically for free.

I was not the most popular student at Davis High School Class of 1984, but I wasn't the most unpopular student, either. I enjoyed my time walking the (literally...) century-old halls of that old school...a series of buildings that no longer exist, by the way. I found all the photos I was in and I am including them here. I want to thank Vance Brand and his wonderful photographic eye that made these photos possible. I hope it's okay to post them. If not, I'll be glad to take them down.

So, I present a series of photos including me and my great friends. I'm thankful for those people and those times. Forty years...can't believe it's been that long.

I've Missed The Football...

 Yes, football has returned. It's high school ball, but at this point, I don't care. I'm glad it's back. It's a sign of things to come...a sign of bigger and better things, or more specifically, bigger and better players, games, stakes.

I'm not the world's greatest fan. I almost never attend the games in person. And, we have limited access to the various games. It's amazing for less than the price of one season ticket to a regular college football home schedule, a person can see almost every college game played across the country all year. We do live in interesting times.

It's halftime...my beloved Darts are getting their hats handed to them.

I don't alway pull for the best teams.

We live a couple of miles from the local high school here. They have a loyal following. Many of my neighbors went to school there, as did their kids and their kids's kids. The local team doesn't win every game, either. But, a sports program isn't just about winning. It's about learning, growing, adjusting, facing harsh things...

Being human.

Sports can be poetry. It's an art form, and when spirt and body combine, you'll see miracles. 

I've missed it...glad it's back.

We Lost Another Classmate...Another Great Guy

I didn't see the news until the day of the funeral...another person from my graduating class--a graduating class turning forty years old this year--is no longer with us, no longer here. It's sobering when someone your age passes away.

I knew of Mike, popular kid, football star, big smile, chicks loved him...these are my high school memories of Mike. I'll bet we spoke at one time...we were classmates since jr high, a total of seven years. He may have known of me--I was good friends with his good friends. That's how it is in high school. Everyone knows everyone else, but you only know a few well.

Our class has held four reunions since we were last together in June, 1984. I attended three. We have one upcoming this fall. To prepare people have gathered on Facebook to offer suggestions, get news on the events, and keep in touch until we again meet. Someone remembered those who will not be attending, those who have passed away. It turned into a "did you hear that so-and-so also died" post where many contributed.

I added two names.

It was sobering remembering the two--one I knew since Kindergarten, as well as seeing the names of classmates I didn't know so well...realizing they will not be there when we meet.

The series of building add-ons where we gathered for school, where we ate in the cafeteria, studied in the rooms, were bullied in the halls, watched and participated in sporting events is gone. It was demolished and a new beautiful school now stands in its place. Like Mike and the others who have passed on, a new building cannot replace the original, cannot replicate walking in the main building built in 1914, or seeing us students in our Ocean Pacific shirts, Nike shoes, and Levis jeans as we passed each other in the halls while holding our Trapper Keepers and making sure on to step on the tiled D.

Reading Mike's obituary, I realized we lived similar lives, both in school and beyond. We both raised families close to the school we attended. We both attended college, we both worked and spent quality time with friends and family. I wish I had known him better. As I get old, I wish I had gotten to know more people when I had the chance. After all, it's the relationships you have with others that can bring such wonderful memories.

The reunion's in a few months. They'll be one less invitation to send...

Let's I hope that's all there'll be.

That High School Spirit...

 Years ago, I, like millions of others, attended public school. I advanced through the grades, attended different schools, and after thirteen years I sat in a big room with a couple of thousand other kids who did the same thing as me. Dressed in a brown (yes, brown...) robe I walked up and accepted a piece of paper that represented a diploma, which, in turn, represented the fact that I spent all those years sitting in classes, taking notes, putting off homework, and spending time with friends.

By the time I reached my senior year--my last year--I thought that school was so important, so all-encompassing. And why not? It was my life...it's all I knew.

Funny how important things tend to lose their luster over time.

With the advantage of hindsight, I can look at not only my years in school but the system in general. Important? Of course. All-encompassing? Not even close. 

Growing up I lived in a small town and we almost had one high school in each community. I traveled to the next town over to attend, give or take about five miles away. Now, just over thirty years after I finished, they built a brand-new, shiny high school in my hometown. I now live once again in a small town with its own high school. The next closest high school is at least twenty miles away. In time, that will change.

But that school spirit, that high school spirit...I think for some, it will never change. Kids will enter the system as small children and kick them out and label them as adults, whether or not they are. And businesses will hang banners and put up signs to take advantage of that spirit--hopefully converting school pride to cash. Good for them, I say. 

For me, unlike some, I have fond memories of my high school years. I remember hanging out with my friends, something I wish I could still do, though I know that life has ended. I sure wish I was as healthy as I was back then--that will never come back, nor should it. Life is meant to be lived, new experiences replace the old. It's the way it should be. When I saw a school banner in our local pizza joint, it brought back things, even though the banner wasn't from the school draped in brown and gold. Ah, that high school spirit...it never quite disappears entirely, just fades away a little more year after year.

Gotta Support The Home Team...

 I've been searching for a certain article of clothing at our local thrift stores for a while. It's how I usually find things. I'll get it in my mind of what I want, then whenever we're near a thrift store, we'll go in and check to see if it's there.

I won't say now what that article of clothing is, but I will let you know if/when I find one (and one in my size...). Needless to say, the last time we went I did not find what I was looking for, but I found something else, a shirt emblazoned with the logo of the local high school's track team.

The Bear River Bears Track Team.

I thought it would be a good idea to pick it up.

I'm glad I did.

People around here are pretty loyal to the local school. It feels like it did when I attended Dear Ol' Davis High School. Back then, there were actual demarkations between Centerville (Viewmont), Farmington/Fruit Heights/Kaysville (Davis), and Layton (Layton). We were pretty proud to be Darts (still am...). Those to the south were proud to be Vikings, and to the north, Lancers. I know it's silly, but that's how it felt. When we left Davis County, there's almost no distinctions between those cities, and now Farmington has its own high school. I'm sure there are proud Phoenix there now.

I've worn the new shirt a lot. I wear it around town, and even though I have absolutely no connection to the school. Still, it makes me feel part of the community and maybe--even though people here have no idea who I am nor have they ever seen me before--I'm more accepted.

I was thinking, as I thought about this particular post, I have NO shirts or clothing bearing the Davis High or Dart logo. Living on the same street where I grew up I never needed to let people know where I attended. Maybe, I should have--when perusing the thrift stores in Davis County--picked up a shirt or jacket that told the world I attended Davis High School. In fact, having a Davis High Track shirt would be pretty cool.

Stories From A Picture...

 That was then...

A good friend sent me this picture in an e-mail.

You can read so much in a photograph--it can tell you so much--and when you're in the picture, there's so much more to read.

This was taken either in 1983 or 1984 while my friend Matt and I attended Davis High School in Kaysville, Utah. Judging by the jackets, it's either in the fall or the spring. It's east of the school--back then--in the football field, most likely during gym. Both Matt and I were on the track team, him a star athlete (hence, the letterman jacket...), me, a poser. I mean, I did run track, but I didn't take it seriously. I was there to have a good time.

From what I can tell, we're both wearing Ray Ban Wayfarers. I know I was. Matt's wearing running shoes, Brooks or New Balance, maybe. I can't remember his shoe of choice. I was wearing Converse Chuck Taylor High Tops. You can't see from the photograph but my shoes were not the same color. I believe I wore one purple shoe and one green shoe. Me and two friends--all with the same sized feet--bought three new pair of Chuck Taylors, then we swapped. I had purple/green, another had green/orange, and the other had orange/purple. Was it a cool thing to do? You bet it was.

Your eye may go be directed to various things in this photo, the jackets, the field, even the look on our faces. For me, I zero in--like a laser--on my hair. It looks good in the picture, even though it looks a little windy. Even though I've been basically bald for more than thirty years, I miss that hair sometimes.

This is now...

Matt lives several states away, successful in his career, raising his beautiful family. He is known to tell others his letterman still fits, and he's still got a full head of hair. If you see a picture of him now, he looks pretty much the same. Me...well, I never earned that jacket (I did, but not in sports, but in drama and music...). I'm pretty sure I could never again fit into any jacket I wore in high school. I'd love to wear Chuck Taylors again, but my hair is long gone and not coming back.

Yes...the e-mail and picture made my day--thanks, Jim! Now, when you look at the picture, it tells you more, it tells a story, as I suppose, every picture can. It's not just a picture of Matt and me. Or, it is, but now we're telling you stories.

Attending A Memorial...

Ever since I began telecommuting two years ago, I find myself--more and more--actually wanting to stay home. This pandemic gives me a built-in excuse to avoid activities. This past week an opportunity to attend my grade school friend's viewing came up. Aside from the fact that Jeff and I had only connected via Facebook over the past couple of years, it's a funeral. You're literally gathering because someone else can't be there. Plus, I don't really know his family, his kids, his new wife. I wondered if I should even go.

I missed the viewing the night before--I did have a meeting that I could have gotten out of. I didn't--I attended the meeting. Since I didn't work the day of the last viewing and funeral, I knew I could attend. Still, something was stopping me, causing me to second-guess going.

Then, I logged onto Facebook.

Like most people, I have high school friends all over the globe. Ever since the news of Jeff's passing hit, classmates have offered condolences. On the day of the funeral, two friends mentioned how great a guy Jeff was, how they mourned with the family, and both said they wished they could attend the funeral but both were unable to do so.

That's what changed my mind.

Here I was, fifteen minutes from the funeral home and having nothing else to do during the viewing--I decided to go because of dear friends who could not.

When I entered, the only person I knew was Jeff. I spotted his family members, but they didn't know me. I got in line to pay my respects. That's when I ran into another friend who I had not seen in decades. I'm glad he recognized me because if he and I walked by each other outside on the street, there's no way I'd have recognized him. Derek and I chatted, caught up. I met his wife and we talked about things you talk about when you haven't seen someone for a long time.

Our time came to say good-bye. I met Jeff's wife. She thanked me for my blog post, something I was glad to do. I'm happy so many people enjoyed it. She then said something about how life was not going to be easy without him. When she said that and I saw her standing next the the casket of her husband, it reminded me of my mom and when she said good-bye to her husband and my father. My dad passed away months shy of his fiftieth birthday. It was not easy for my mom, either.

As I left, I ran into a good friend of Jeff's, Brad and his wife. After that, came two more high school friends, one of which attended elementary, jr. high, and high school with Derek, Jeff, and I. We caught up and even though I knew hardly anyone else there, I felt like I was with family, people with shared experiences, memories that span almost half a century.

I couldn't stay for the funeral service--I had a meeting I could not get out of, but I am so glad I went to the viewing. The experience confirmed my belief that humans are social animals and that we need each other--when we celebrate and when we grieve. Thanks to Sean and Travis for changing my mind. Thanks to Derek, Carlene, Ronny, Brad, and most of all, Jeff, for reminding me of how amazing a life I've had because I know so many incredible people.

Waxing Nostalgic...That Senior Picture

I don't know why I'm waxing nostalgic, exactly. Yesterday, I came across a KANSAS concert ticket stub from 1980. Today, it was a senior class photo. I've blogged about it before, but this time, I saw the picture in a different light.

I can't tell you the exact day the photo was taken--that was several months before I began keeping a daily journal. I do know it was in the spring. The seniors gathered on the front steps--steps no longer there--to have some guy I believe on a tall ladder take pictures of us. 

When ready, they passed out the posters to all of us. We all searched for each other, then for our friends. After I graduated, I stowed the poster somewhere in my mom's house where it stayed for decades. Over the years the poster suffered some water damage. It's too bad, because it's a cool memento from the last year of my public school experience.

It's something millions of students--worldwide--that will not have. Dances, games, tournaments, concerts, and graduation ceremonies have been most likely forever canceled. Many have bemoaned the lack of these experiences for these students. I can understand that. Guaranteed, if the same thing happened to us, we would have been upset and felt slighted, saying what some are saying now, that it's unfair.

But, with the hindsight of experience and age, yes--those things are important and have their place, but we also understand--especially today--that other things can be more important. Hopefully, the pain they now feel will be replaced with something positive. After all, they may be--God willing--the only ones that can tell their children and grandchildren that they were unique by not doing things the rest of us did.

Back in the spring of 1984, I stood (stooped, actually--that's me in the middle...) with hundreds of other kids, excited and nervous of what came next. Many got married and had families, careers, all have had trials, tests, struggles, triumphs, joys, accomplishments, basic lives lived. Of course, some are no longer with us and we mourn their passings. 

Imagine, if we knew then what we know now. 

Would we have looked any different? Probably not.

Returning To Where You Once Were...

Tonight, I drove up to my alma mater, one of my alma maters, that is. It's weird coming back to a place where you went to school. The first school I attended was torn down, at least part of it. The second and third schools (elementary and jr. high school...) are still there, but my high school is no more. They flattened it and built a huge temple to education, otherwise known as Davis High School.

I first attended Utah State University in Logan, Utah. Home of the Aggies. I love USU--it's a great place. My dad, brother, sis-in-law all graduated from there. After the mission, I went to the University of Utah, and I really loved my time as a Ute. It's a great institution.

After a fifteen-year break, I went back to school, this time at Weber State University. I enjoyed the school, the faculty, and the students very much. Thing is, I didn't spend a lot of time on the main campus, so the Union Building, where I am not, does not feel like home. Then again, a few years I went back to the U of U and it had changed so much, I hardly recognized the place.

The picture you see above is a relatively new building. I can't remember who it's named after, but it's mostly used by the English Department. They finished building it while I attended and I had a few classes there. It's also where my family and I had a meeting before I got my masters degree. I suppose if I return to WSU in about ten or twenty years, I probably won't recognize it, either. Such is life. Then again, I'm sure no one there would recognize me either.

Bill...The Unbeliever

The other day I was looking for a picture in one of my old high school yearbooks, my freshman year yearbook, to be exact. I found the picture I was looking for (the local 7-Eleven for my 7-Eleven blog post...). After finding the picture, I did a little memory lane stroll by checking out the yearbook pages.

And I checked out some of the notes and comments from my friends.

That's where I saw a comment from a Bill Shunn.

If you know Bill, you'll know he's one colorful guy...well, as colorful as a white guy from Utah can be, but you know what I mean. Bill is a published author. In fact, for as long as I've known him, he's been an author. Back in jr. high school he wrote stories; the first story of Bill's that I ever read might have been called, The Magic Bus, or something like that. A group of students got on a bus and then the spookiness began. There are specifics of the story that I have forgotten, but I do remember how impressed I was at his talent.

That was decades ago, almost four decades, and Bill's been writing ever since. But what caught my attention from my yearbook was the The Unbeliever part of his well wish. Some might think Bill's an unbeliever, especially those of us still in Utah. I'm here to say Bill is definitely a believer. 

Of course, it all depends on how you define "believer," doesn't it?

Bill--I believe I did have a "slummer of a summer," in the days and weeks following your kind note. And thanks for signing my book all those years ago!

Happy Birthday...Big Brother!

So, the week of birthdays in our family comes to an end. Today is my brother's birthday, one week after my son's and three days after mine. We're all a year older than we were just eight days ago.

Many younger brother's look up to their elder brothers. That's what I did. Growing up my brother was one of the cool kids. He had lots of friends and was very popular. Being two years older my brother was well established as a stud when I entered the hallowed halls of Davis High School as a lowly freshman. Everyone  knew him--especially the girls.

Did I mention he was popular?

I found it kind of bizarre that after a few months of being in high school the most popular freshman girls in my grade were coming up to me and asking me if I was Alan Taylor's brother.

"Yes," I said, sometimes amazed that these girls I didn't even dare to talk to before were actually talking to me. Then, they would say, "Wow! You don't look anything like your brother..."

Then, the dagger.

"You don't look anything like him--he's so good looking!"

I'm not kidding when I say I heard this a lot. 

But it's hard to be mad or stay mad at Alan, and those of you lucky enough to know him understand this. And growing up, there were times he wasn't my favorite person, but those times were few and passed quickly. I'll never forget that as a lowly freshman, my brother--one of the cool kids--took me under his wing and invited me to events, to hang out with his friends. Looking back I sometimes can't believe he did that. I mean, his reputation was on the line and he didn't care. Not every big brother did that. I'm glad and grateful mine did. It did wonders to the self-esteem of a shy skinny kid with seriously fine blond hair.

Yesterday my brother and I were only one year apart, one year as far as the numbers go. Today we're two years apart and all has been restored to its proper order. Thanks Alan for always begin my big brother (in the best and non-Orwellian sense...). I hope you've had a wonderful day!

My Trip To Kaysville...

Tonight I drove to the next town over, something I've done many times over the years. For some reason, tonight's drive reminded me of when I used to make the same drive thirty plus years ago.

And I realized, much has changed and much has stayed the same.

Back when I was in high school I drove that same road, the upper road through Farmington and into Kaysville, except back then, I drove my prized green VW bug. Well, it wasn't so much "prized" as it was barely a car. My 1965 bug had a 1200 CC engine and 6-volt wiring. The car left me stranded almost 50% of the time I drove the thing.

Man, how I loved that car!

Cars have changed. Tonight I drove a car built in 2004. The differences between my car then and my car now are great. My car now has more than 36 horsepower. It has brakes that work and a radio. It has a heater that actually works and windshield wipers with windshield wiper fluid. These are all good things. There exist similarities, too which include four wheels, registered license plates, working lights and both are paid for.

The road to Kaysville has changed. Once you leave Farmington there are two lanes into town, but the biggest improvement is a bridge crosses Highway 89. That's important because on more than one occasion my little VW barely made it across that street without getting smashed by oncoming traffic.

The Kaysville Theater is still there, except now it shows multiple movies, not just one or two. And there's a bank on the corner, except it's not Barnes Bank, but Zions. It should be Barnes. 

In both towns there are more traffic lights now. Back then the first traffic light you came to between Farmington and Kaysville was downtown Kaysville, right next to the 7-Eleven. Now there are nine traffic lights. I remember when that 7-Eleven opened, Davis High Homecoming Weekend, 1980. It was quite an event.

I remember making that same drive many a Friday night on my way to some activity, be it at the high school or a friend's house. I usually drove it with friends, but tonight I was alone. Maybe that's why the trip made me think about how so many things have changed and how so many have not.