Yearbook

There are currently eight yearbooks on my shelf - not including the dusty, folded ones my mom forgot to get rid of or forgot she wanted to keep. They are in order of year, the first from my finger-painting days at age 4 (the earlier years they just gave us placemats with our picture on them) and the last from my sixth grade at age 11. Each has its own distinct theme; one is globally themed with maps on every page and red marks instead of name plaques, another is board game themed featuring a Game-of-Life-esque roll-and-move board on the inside cover. Today, I walked into my Wednesday club to discover that my seventh grade yearbook was off the presses. People were laughing at their photos, examining their friends', and reminiscing about the year. No. Wait. No one else was reminiscing. I couldn't help it. I could just see the bold red spine sitting on the shelf in a few weeks, waiting for its younger siblings to slowly file into place.