The Magical Narrator

"Our kids won't have anything like that," Bill commented while he watched me sort through piles of hand written notes from my best friend from high school. "Their notes are all text messages and blogs and they're out there in the air somewhere. No one will have them twenty years later."

"I suppose that's true," I said.

I dragged my personal high school archives out last summer for the 20 year high school reunion - notes and cards and pictures and my scrapbooks. I set them aside thinking that I would read through them, come upon some great realization or story, and write it up. Like "American Graffiti", "Stand By Me" or "Sandlot." I've noticed that movies about childhood are often told from the point of view of the writer - the thoughtful kid that grew up to write about childhood and make some sort of profound statement about coming of age or whatever - the magical narrator.

I read a few things aloud to Bill, I laughed, I was embarassed. I thought of these documents as a holy grail of sort, but really, I just have a rabbit. I am perculating some ideas. I would have to say that what I feel overall is disappointment in the documents. I think that there is a story or lesson in all of it, but I don't think it is in the words written by 17 year old girls, I think it is in the head of a 38 year old woman reading the words of 17 year old girls.