I was looking through a high school yearbook recently, a dangerous thing to do when 40 years have passed. I got lost staring at the silly hairstyles, the photos of teachers who are long since gone, the friend in the senior play whose name is now etched on the Vietnam memorial. It was a time of turmoil and strife in the nation. Racial tensions, assassinations and war were tearing the country apart. But you would never know that from my yearbook’s carefree and hopeful class photos.
Someone once said that the only reason anyone would ever look at a yearbook 40 years later would be to remember the good things that happened. Yearbooks do that. They gloss over the poignant and focus on the happy and positive.