Dear Classmates, (all 23 of you)
How can Day 84 pass without each of you coming to mind? My original society. My gang. My tribe.
Weren’t we the lucky ones living in the heart of small-town America, free to come and go and find as much trouble as we could, even though there was honestly so little trouble to be found? For 12 years we propped one another up, laughed until we cried, and tasted the beginnings of how we’d write our individual life stories.
When I think of you all, I think not of who I wish to be, but rather the heart of who I truly am – a small-town farm boy from rural Arkansas.
Cruising main, ball games every Tuesday and Friday night, maybe a Saturday night movie and pizza in Jonesboro if it had been a good week. There was much predictability to our young lives. I think we rather liked it that way.
If you have as many fond memories of those 12 years as I, you occasionally get lost in your thoughts as you sit in the stands at a grandchild’s ball game or a sixth-grade graduation. You reflect on the most innocent times when your priorities were consumed with things such as finding time for your next car wash or who wouldn’t completely turn you down for a date to the junior prom.
Memory still smells the hallway smells, and hears the familiar voices, and it still hears young cheerleader voices reverberating through that old gym I called home:
We’ll be loyal to you, MHS, to your colors be true MHS; We’ll back you to stand as the best in the land, for we know you have pep, MHS, rah, rah. So, answer the call, MHS; We are backing you all MHS. With brain and with muscle, we’ll get right down and hustle, and win for you all MHS, Rah, Rah!
M-O-N-E-T-T-E! MONETTE! MONETTE! MONETTE! RAH, RAH!
(In memory of Shawn Perrin, student council president, teammate, friend.)