You have completed a chapter in your journey. I hope the memories you’ve made are cherished, laughed about, and shared for many years to come. As for the bad ones — learn from them and grow. The next generation needs you, and they’re counting on you more than you know.
Your graduation got me reminiscing about my own senior year. Even though it’s been a couple of years — yes, do the math — those memories still hold a very special place in my heart. There are so many!
First things first: “We were super, we were great, we were the Class of ’78!”
If I could have told that girl back in 1978 that she’d one day be a single mom, retired after 31 years of working, sitting on her couch writing a story about days gone by — I would have just laughed. But here we are!
Looking at the girl in the picture accepting her diploma, I think about my parents and what it truly meant for us to graduate from high school. I was the second sibling in my family to walk across that stage, and neither of my parents had been able to do the same. My dad quit school after the 8th grade, lied about his age, and went to work in the oilfield to help support his family. My mom quit in the middle of her senior year to marry my dad and move to California while he finished his time in the Marines. Years later, after all her children had left home, she went back and earned her GED — taught by the very same teacher who had taught all three of us: Marjorie Anderson.
The girls in our class chose white caps and gowns. The boys wore Hennessey Blue. And looking at that picture, I get a full-on flashback of those pantyhose — you know the ones, the kind that came in the little plastic eggs!
That fall of 1978, I loaded up my ’63 Chevy Impala — four doors, all tank — and headed off to college. I named her Myrna. I have absolutely no idea why, but Myrna just fit her. She got me everywhere I ever dared to drive. Cell phones didn’t exist yet, so my dad had installed a CB radio for safety. I had to make it to school before the switchboard shut down for the night, and most of the time I called home collect after 6:30, when the long-distance rates finally dropped.
The people who signed our diplomas have all passed on now, but their memories are still very much with me. Jack Funderberg was our only principal through all our school years — when we moved from one building to the next, he just tagged right along. Paul Babiak was our superintendent. Years later, after I had lost both my parents and the weight of being an orphan hit hard — even at that age — Paul Babiak pulled me into a hug and told me he would adopt me. Both my brothers were standing behind him, frantically mouthing “Nooooo!” He laughed, and I knew it was one of those hugs where you just feel the love. Dr. Fast was our local doctor in Hennessey — she pierced my ears, took out my tonsils, and took care of just about every ailment we had. Dr. Nickolas was our eye doctor, and it seemed like we all ended up in glasses.
Forty-eight years has brought the loss of many. Most recently, we lost Marilyn Buckner. Marilyn was our high school secretary, the one who kept the front office running like clockwork and cheered on every single student who walked through that door. Not to mention — she was the biggest Elvis Presley fan you ever met.
If I could give that girl in 1978 any words of wisdom from the woman sitting here in 2026, I’d tell her: Don’t settle. Hold tight to your faith. And know that you are worthy.
Man, I sure wish Myrna was still sitting in my driveway. We’d have to go for a cruise.
About The Author
