Chloe Serena

At this years Art and Technology show, there was an impressive display of artwork produced by students who meticulously spent the year curating pieces that they believed represented themselves to a “T.” In the small hallway that led from the trophy lobby into the woodshop and clothing laden cafeteria, was a small cart of books, stacked on top of one another and occasionally toppling. The book cart donned a sign that stated “free yearbooks please take” after a few minutes of combing through the pages of somewhat recent yearbooks, glazing over each page to find siblings, and laughing at what fashion used to be, I decided to take home two yearbooks, one from the class of 1991, and another from the class of 1994. These two yearbooks possessed 8 years of James Caldwell alumni, all with stories just like our own.


When I got home, that’s when I really started going through the yearbooks, reading the names and blurbs. Occasionally a familiar face would pop up such as Detective Paul Mazzeo in the class of 1994 yearbook where he can be found on page 14 hidden in the corner near the binding hanging out with his friends at the Land and Sea Diner. You might even spot Ms. Callaghan in a marching band hat (as a teacher) saluting the camera, that is when Caldwell even had a marching band of course.

As I looked through the vintage Caldwell pictures I can’t help but think how different the school was. In 1991, there was no awning across the entrance to school and the chorus room was in the basement of the school, right under the band room, a location that now houses old theatre props and colorguard uniforms. It seemed that within these two yearbooks all my idyllic 90’s dreams had come true, the over-permed hair, the funky patterned clothes, and just the sense that everyone was there to have a good time. Of course my perception may be warped being that the only true experience from the 90’s that I posses is from Saved by the Bell and Boy Meets World reruns.

In moments like this though, I have to imagine what life will be like twenty something-odd years from now when yet another art and tech show pops its head around the corner reminding the school that the year is truly coming to an end and they may once again be giving out yearbooks for free. The students of the class of  2037 may look back and be in shock to see their favorite English teacher Ms. Sullo was on the tennis team, they knew something was coming when she always had her eyes on the prize. Or maybe even the other English teacher just down the hall, Ms. Franklin was the class of 2017’s Vice President. But could they really even be surprised with her passionate demeanor towards both school and her students.

In this not so distant future, some students will look back at their predecessors and be jealous of the girls meticulously kept eyebrows and gawk at the unnecessary yet stylistically worn “timbs.” Others will weep over how they were born in the wrong generation when listening to Taylor Swift on their vintage iPod Touch, some will mimic the style for a hopeful comeback.

What we can assume now is that the legacy that we leave behind will always be referred back to as the good ol’ days no matter how bad they may seem to us now. Our lives are captured in snapshots that will remain until they decompose in the library of James Caldwell High School. In this distant future we should be able to appreciate what we have because at some point soon a new generation of James Caldwell students will be wishing they were us. In the future, the petty arguments and competitive test scores will be irrelevant. In our last few days at James Caldwell we should really be spending them dwelling on all the good memories that we’ve had and cherish them just until they become the good ol’ days to us.