Wayne High School - Sentry Yearbook (Fort Wayne, IN)

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Soaked with a society of water drop people— our inl runs, we sag and col- lapse. Waded, tossed away. We live a real life in- side this glass. We look out, others look in, but advocate change. Only those that are courag- eous are remembered or deserve to be. Tired after finally To break the glass, to sound the alarm, to be the exception to the rule. no one breaks the wall. It is the duty of each generation of Wayne stu- dents to crack the glass and emerge. To find a cause and fight for it. To oppose tradition, to breaking through, one re- alizes that life is like a wooden Russian doll, break one, and there is another, then another, then anoth- er. The greatest learn- ing experience at Wayne is one which is not plan- ned and, in fact, is often opposed— to break the glass, to sound the alarm, to be the exception to the rule. For the exception both breaks and proves the rule, and that is, after all, what rules are for- te break and be broken, —joe andrew may 5th 13

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IHREE Little perfection bis- cuit girl, honey hair and a blue barette, sits on her blue shag carpet in her blue shoes and shoves a plant into her terrarium. is periodically sprink- led with bull— Our blue suede teachers place our roots in the soil, prompt- ing us to thrive, to grow, to soak up the minerals of knowledge. The best of us take hold, shoot up, grabbing at the sun only to feel the ceiling of It rains, it shines, and is periodically sprinkled with bull. She covers the roots, pours in crystal blue water, and places her carefully folded paper doll into her glass encased world, closes the lid, turns on the sunlamp and sits back in her blue suede chair, and waits for her green leaf of life to grow. Is she playing God ... or teacher? Life at Wayne revolves in the cyclelike process of learning we call school. It rains, it shines and glass covering us. We feel we ' ve reached as far as we can go. We ' re fully grown seniors, fully grown right to the level that you wanted us to reach. Looking up we see the sun that we ' ve been grab- bing for, the basis for our growth. It ' s only a G E Bulb, easily switched on or off. We question known facts, subjective truths and of course tea- chers. Now what? We must be transplanted or thwarted. Many times an eerie feel- ing creeps up on me that our teachers are not on the outside ready to help transplant us but are caged into this glass world with us, likewise afraid to step right or left of the norm or they will shake the glass caus- ing the looming hands of Administrators to quickly relocate their roots elsewhere. Are our educators stoic wind-blown babblers or meek lions whispering an ode to the west wind — night and day, living with their own Frankenstein mon- ster? But what of those of us that don ' t grow? Those that can ' t separate the nutrients from the bull, can ' t decipher the useable from the wasteful. We then are also like the water poured into the glass ter- rarium world. We seep down into our society, used by others, evaporated, risen to the top only to condense and fall again. We falter, carving through no new paths but always flowing the way of least resistance. We— like water drops— are not noticeable, yet we make up society. There are those of us that neither shrink nor grow. Folded and molded by our teachers into nice lit- tle paper student dolls Knowledge doesn ' t seep in- to us, we wear it for all to see, newsprint declaring our intelligence. We stand straight, crisp, and easily readable in our terrarium world. But thrown into the gutter of real life? 12

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IRROUGH the G S D 1RKLY Crossing the black depths of space— inner space— bacl to a time we remember only vaguely as through a glass darkly, through our own intimate impressions of the year. That it what it is for. For those of us who want to remember and be remem- those walls, into the classrooms. To see their teachers. To see their friends. To smile and laugh. To remember the tears, to feel your friend ' s hands. It is your story, your questions, your answer, your faces, your feelings. Yours— bered. I hope that it lets them go back, back through To feel the questions in the air. To leave yourself and the existing now to flood into the past. The past— where the questions were easy— questions now an- swered—the home movie rolls on, but you, out of yourself, are content. There : will be no surprises, you know the outcome. But remember, fun was the surprises. The pies in the face, the ball teeter- ing on the rim, the guessed answer right. Remember the surprises, they are the catalog ' s story. It is your story, your questions, your answers, your faces, your feelings. Yours—