Grade Eight Graduation Encore

When I saw my friend Les' comment in response to my last post about looking good in his suit (we graduated from grade eight together), I thought I'd try to dig up a few more photos.

This is our graduating class photo. Yes, Les did look quite swank in his suit, so much so that I had to take a moment to myself to close my eyes and fully absorb his radiating classiness.

I am not sure if Les remembers this, but you may notice the awkward slogan on our graduation banner: Leaving. . . with memories. Our teachers held a brainstorming session prior to our grad and we, the students, collectively voted on the oh-so-inspiring slogan of "Leaving". Our teachers refused it due to the aura of negativity it spoke, so they shined the turd by adding ". . . with memories".

The following photo is of our after grad celebration, which was held at a nearby lake where we swam and had a barbecue. Les is on the left, and there I am in the center, once again, full of angst. I refused to swim at this party as that would have meant peeling the dyke-liscious, men's dress shirt off of my awkward, thirteen year old body.

Grade Eight Graduation Angst

I wrote the following journal entry after my grade eight graduation rehearsal. At the time I was coming to terms with the fact that I had won no awards and was perceived as mediocre. Tear!

This is a photo of me that was taken at my graduation ceremony:

Note the gray, metal chairs I spoke of in my journal entry. Also note my butch-tastic hair cut and farmer's tan. And yes, my best friend of the time had made her own dress. How did you guess?!