Fifty years ago tonight, four hundred eighty-something of us walked across a stage on the west end of the Peoria High School gymnasium – aka “The Lions’ Den” – to hear our names called out and receive our diplomas.
I’m usually nails on remembering milestone dates. This one, not so much – until the uncertainty started to drive me crazy. I’m on a committee that’s planning our reunion for later this summer, and during a recent meeting I asked my former classmates if they remembered the date we graduated. None did. I started to obsess. Finally, I broke down and went to the Peoria Public Library, dug out a couple of rolls of microfiche with old editions of the Journal Star and began cranking.
(I had to spin the rolls by hand because the film is getting brittle and there are flaws, and if you’re auto-spinning too fast a flaw might get caught as it feeds beneath the glass and tear up the film. This would make the library employee in charge of the archives very angry. Or so she told me as I sat down to research.)
And so I found the date: May 31, 1973. I had been thinking it was a week later, but I had a nagging doubt. That’s why I finally looked it up.
One thing of which I had been 100 percent certain was that we graduated on a Thursday evening. This I knew because I started my summer job the day after graduation, and that first day was a Friday. Why I agreed to start on a Friday, the morning after graduation, I have no idea. But I regretted that decision while I slogged through the first day on about one hour of sleep.
Of course, there’s a story. There’s always a story.
After graduation, our family returned to our home for cake and the opening of presents and hugs and well-wishes. As the clock pushed toward 9 p.m., I itched to get out and join my friends at one or more of the various graduation parties. My parents finally said I was good to go. I took the car keys and asked my father when I should be home. These were his exact words, which I will never forget:
“You’re a high school graduate now. Use your good judgment.”
And off I went. At 5:30 the next morning, as the still-invisible sun was beginning to light the sky, I quietly parked the car in the garage, slipped in the back door, climbed the steps to the kitchen. And there sat my father. I won’t ever forget these words either:
“I don’t think you used very good judgment.”
What happened in those eight or nine hours between his comments? Well, you see, there was this girl …
And now there’s a song that I wrote. I sing it occasionally. To my knowledge, nobody has recorded me singing it yet. Maybe someday. A few of my old friends have heard it and asked if they know the girl. I smile. They ask who it was. But I will never tell. Some things are better left unsaid.
JUST FRIENDS
I knew a girl, fine as summer rain;
Lips like sugar, sweet off the cane.
Long blonde hair, smile like snow;
She set you on fire and never let go.
I loved her, she loved me,
But we were just friends, if you know what I mean.
Yeah, you know what I mean.
Hooked up one night, all wild and free.
So the story goes, it was something to see.
We were the stars of the dark night sky;
Half moon watching till the daylight came by.
I loved her, she loved me,
But we were just friends, and you know what that means.
Oh yeah, you know what that means.
She said, “You know, I could get into you.”
But I shook my head, ‘cause I already knew.
So we said goodbye with one long kiss;
Now all we have is the memory of this.
Yeah, all we have is the memory of this.
Let me tell ya now:
I loved her, she loved me,
But we were just friends, if you know what I mean.
Oh yeah, you know what I mean.
Part of my official high school graduation photo shoot. My dad was ticked off that I wore jeans and made me go back for a re-shoot. But I was able to save this.
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