I had some high school friends to dinner last night and as we covered nostalgic times and classmates we’d heard from over the holidays, inevitably our memories failed us and out came the yearbook. Mine happens to be handy because I have lots of bookcases and therefore the room to keep it in reach. I kept my yearbook because 1) it seemed like a rule – you’re supposed to; 2) it represents good years of my life; 3) it helps me decide about some Facebook requests; and 4) I knew my friends’ memories would grow sketchy.
I liked high school; I had a great time and made lifelong friends. But I get why some people never even wanted a yearbook. For some, high school was nothing short of traumatic and they want no physical evidence they’d ever been there and certainly no physical reminder of it. Getting rid of a yearbook doesn’t dispose of the memories, just some of the triggers.
A yearbook is a time capsule. Unlike Facebook, which seems to be replacing the need for a yearbook, a yearbook is a captured point in time – put together by the kids who wanted to be journalists and photographers. If you weren’t friends with them (or cool), chances were good the only picture of you in the book would be the formal one; no candids. And thanks to camera phones and Facebook, yearbooks are now laughably quaint. But twenty-five years after graduation, it’s not likely anyone will search Facebook back that far to find those classic embarrassing photos of your bad style and funny haircut. You owe it to your kids to make a record of that easily accessible.
I liked high school; I had a great time and made lifelong friends. But I get why some people never even wanted a yearbook. For some, high school was nothing short of traumatic and they want no physical evidence they’d ever been there and certainly no physical reminder of it. Getting rid of a yearbook doesn’t dispose of the memories, just some of the triggers.
A yearbook is a time capsule. Unlike Facebook, which seems to be replacing the need for a yearbook, a yearbook is a captured point in time – put together by the kids who wanted to be journalists and photographers. If you weren’t friends with them (or cool), chances were good the only picture of you in the book would be the formal one; no candids. And thanks to camera phones and Facebook, yearbooks are now laughably quaint. But twenty-five years after graduation, it’s not likely anyone will search Facebook back that far to find those classic embarrassing photos of your bad style and funny haircut. You owe it to your kids to make a record of that easily accessible.