A few weeks ago, I got into a “pitch and toss” mood. I am a bit pack rat-ish when it comes to bank statements and any other statements that might have account and/or social security numbers on them. Before my cleaning spree, I had boxes that had bank statements dating back to 1989. Sheesh.

While going through all these boxes, I did find some cool things … the punk/alternative buttons I wore on my jacket in high school, notes left by dear friends, and lots of birthday and thank you cards.

One of the major things I found was a stack of letters written to me by a really good female friend while we were in high school. I knew I had saved them and that they were in a box somewhere. Over the years, I have developed a sense of joy at having saved these. They were important. They were special. So, I was excited to find (and read) them again.

I guess nostalgia (and faulty memory) clouded my expectations. I remember us being so cool, intellectual, and above all that petty high school nonsense. Maybe that was because we got good grades and listened to cool alternative music. These letters sure proved that wrong. They are filled with talk of crushes, unrequited love, betrayal, secrets, suicidal thoughts, and an extreme dislike for one fellow student. It’s exactly what you would expect from a bunch of emo teenagers.

Needless to say, I was a little disappointed that these letters from 30+ years ago didn’t live up to my memory of them. I still saved them. I collected all the cards and letters and buttons (30 years worth) and put them in a new plastic bin for safekeeping. I can get rid of those old bank statements and such but I just can’t get rid of the personal things … even if the memory is better than the reality.


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