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

Page 9 text:

- behind. I can no longer be content dreaming dreams. It ' s time to chase dreams. It ' s strange, this school which has been a second home and all the crazy people who occupy it will no longer be a part of my life. They will be filed away in my memory, and soon, this trapped frus- tration I feel now will fade away and my memories of school will wear a mask of youthful bliss. I ' ll forget that I met the first boy who ever broke my heart there and instead remember how I danced gaily at the Sen- ior Prom. I ' ll forget the tears we shed together as our hopes of winning the state basketball championship were cast to the wind and instead remember the rousing pep rally we held to welcome the team back home as sectional champs. I ' ll forget the bitter nasty remarks exchanged in moments of jealous anger and instead remember the silly private jokes that had us in tears, laughing. Yes, Wayne High School, my memories of you will not fade as quickly as you ' re memory of me. You will just become more mellow with the years. The mask that now seems so sharp and strong will in time become soft and less foreboding just as the walls that were so fresh and white in my freshman year are now dull and gray. — Laura Rudny The 1978 Sentry continues. Learning Stories . This year a senior honor, allowing non-staff members to tell their story.

Page 8 text:

i 1- ' % a ,e During first period I glance at the cal- endar and anxiously number the days until graduation. During second period I fix my eyes on the clock and calculate the hours until I take my seat at the Coliseum. During third period I grab a piece of scrap paper and figure out the minutes until I reach for my diploma. During fourth period I consider calcu- lating the seconds but that would take too much time and I ' m tired of adding, subtracting, multiplying and dividing. I ' m tired of nouns and verbs, pioneers and revolutionists, earthworms and frogs. I ' m tired of school and that bothers me. When I look back it ' s not such a bad place. I did a lot of learning here, not just learning about good sentence structure and who was the 17th President of the United States, but I learned about people and through them, learned rriyself. These dull gray walls that surround me as I write weren ' t always dull and gray. The people that surround me now didn ' t always seem dull and typical. But I seem to have become dull myself. Has the world around me changed so much or am I just looking at it differ- ently? Why is it after three years of bursting with fresh ideas my imagination is sud- denly barren? It ' s time to move on and I know it. It ' s time to leave this security blanket

Page 10 text:

a m lu U 0 I will let the curtain fall, I will let it fall and close behind me. Act I has been fin- ished these thirteen years passed, but Act II is not yet closed. It ' s final lines, its ending rhymes, have yet to be written. I have jousted with the others for center stage, stomping and shouting, our pitiful voices amplified and projected through our masks. We prize our masks — well crafted, polished, easily twiched off and replaced with another. Our masks are our servants and yet our masters. We praise ourselves for a role well played, a scene well-turned, and the ease with which we move on to the next character and the next mask. Yet we do not see that each mask we wear leaves its mark when discarded — in the faces of those play- ing opposite us. It appears as a wrinkle of remembrance, a small sign that says, I remember you as you were. Can you prove you are not that now? In playing a role well we type ourselves, bind and lash ourselves forever into that stamp. So we will always appear to the audience of our fellow players. The stage makes actors of us all and