As I mentioned in my last posting, I began “Facebooking” this summer. This enormous network of people not only keeps me connected with friends I am currently in touch with, but it has also re-opened doors to my past. Doors that I thought were shut and bolted forever.
Just recently, class pictures from my now defunct grammar school were posted. Not only did the pictures bring back memories of polyester plaid uniforms, but it sparked a stream of conversation among the twelve (give or take a few) of us that made up my class.
This resurrection of pictures, memories and friendships that were forged so long ago is overwhelming reminder of both my childhood and how much I have grown. But what I found most interesting is that, in hindsight, I don’t think that any of us would say they were the best times of our lives, certainly not us girls, but here we are twenty (I can’t believe it) years later, and we all began to relish in this experience in which we are all rooted, posting comments of memories for better or for worse.
Although I spread my wings, fled New Jersey at eighteen, am quick to try to disguise my Jersey accent living and teaching in New England, and much to my mother’s disappointment have also somewhat abandoned my Catholic upbringing, I always find a way to let people know that I am, in fact, from Jersey and went to Catholic school.
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