Tattered Past

Tattered Past: My ongoing journey through genealogy, history, writing, self-exploration and art. ~~~ Rita Ackerman

Tuesday, September 23, 2014

Remember When: Yearbooks


Do you still have your high school yearbooks? (Assuming you were in a time and place to get one.)
When you come across fellow classmates do you run to look them up? Or flip through the pages to find a face to go with a memory? 

I love my yearbooks and they have a choice position on my shelf. I was on the yearbook staff in high school and college so there is that added connection. 

Friday night I met two energetic and fun author's: Chris and Bev. After talking for a bit Chris and I realized our families came from the same tiny town in southwestern Kansas. Further "do you know?" questions led to the fact that people with her maiden name married into my family a couple of generations before the move west. So we may or may not be cousins. 

Over the weekend I dug out my mother's 1941 yearbook. She was a senior in that tiny little town. So was Chris' father. 


This yearbooks isn't just for the high school. All classes are in this slim volume. Some of my aunts and uncles are on the other pages. 


There's my beautiful mother second from the bottom. She wasn't on the yearbook staff but the girl shown below her was. I won't point out Chris' father but he's up near the top of the page. They were both in the glee club and in band. 

I have a really hard time imagining my mother as a teen. I don't know if she had a job or helped out at home with her five younger siblings. Her grandmother ran the switchboard in Fowler for many years. Her father became a barber. Chris' father or grandfather was a barber (perhaps both.) Her family also owned the ice cream parlor. 

I'm sure Chris and I will have many stories and hopefully some photos to share. 

You just never know when this small world will shrink right onto your own doorstep. 

Do you have similar stories? Have you imagined your parents as teens? 
The possibilities for memories and stories are endless when you use your yearbooks as a memory jogger.