Kennedy High School - Profiles Yearbook (Bloomington, MN)

Page 25 text:

Sixth grade: Next to cursive writing the most exciting thing in your life is getting to wear pants to school. The liberation of it all. . . Now you can forget all that stuff about keeping your legs crossed when you sit and you can flop around like those slobs, the boys. Tenth grade: You start to have the social life you deserve when word gets around that you have gotten your driver's license. Visions of sumptuous dates spent at Post Road fill your dreams and may even become a reality. . . once you learn to shift the car's gears. Seventh grade: Coming with your friends, dancing with your friends, talking with your friends, and leaving with your friends is the way it goes at your first junior high dance. Trouble is, your friends are all of the same sex. A girl wonders if the boys are as boring as they look. Eleventh grade: He's your father, and he couldn't be prouder, so he takes pictures of you in front of the TV, on the front steps, in front of the fireplace, in front of your boyfriend . . . He'll be up when you get home, for he'll never believe his little girl has grown up. Eighth grade: Well, you're paying the price. Those chocolate malts, French fries, pizza, candy bars, potato chips, and pop may taste good going down, but the next day it's Pimple City. Suddenly, you start listening more carefully to Clearasil ads by the Wolf Man, 'cause he's been there, you know. Ninth grade: Can this be Heaven? This is the moment you've been waiting for . . . the first kiss after the big Oak Grove-Port land football game. Obviously, all that Ultra-Britedid the trick. Now, if you would have remembered the Certs, he might have kissed you again. Twelfth grade: With diploma in hand, you're ready to face the world. It takes an event like Graduation to make you realize that your life during the last 13 years has been a collection of first-hand experiences — some terrific, some OK, and some just barely tolerable, at least at the time. While you are happy to leave high school and move into new worlds of adventure, you're not nearly as happy as your teachers who stand by at the Met June 2 just to be sure that you are, indeed, leaving. They've enjoyed you, but after all, enough is enough. 21

Page 24 text:

Sugar and spice, and everything nice. Snakes and snails and puppy dogs' tails. A remembrance of things past. 1963. A time to remember. . . when seniors' hearts were young and boys cried as often as did the girls, when having a new set of Crayolas was about the most important thing in the whole world. It was 13 years ago when this year's graduates first began their careers, and teachers started talking about what the Class of '76 would be like when these students advanced from fingerpainting in class to teepeeing at night. Kindergarten: It is hard to tell who cries the most, you or your mother as she walks you to school and gives you a good-luck kiss. First grade: Nervous but excited about your first hot lunch, you get into the line. All goes well until your classmates object to you getting 2 scoops of potatoes. You turn red as the cook tells everyone that it's because you're a little large for your age. Second grade: You ask to be line leader but get sent to the back because the teacher is mad about you getting sick all over the kid in front of you. After . that, it is tough to get someone to hold hands in the lunch line. For the first time, you discover what it means to perspire. Third grade: The ultimate in embarrassment comes when a GIRL beats you up the rope and your manhood is threatened. You vow never to speak to her-again, or at least until you beat her at something like arm wrestling. You know how to cheat at that game. Fourth grade: Oh, the bother of it all. . . You wonder what you can do to make yourself less appealing. Your reputation is endangered as girls keep giving you the eye. Deep down, however, you aren't worried about getting girlitis because you've had your daily girl germ shot. Fifth grade: Incredible, You're only 10 years old and your social life is already over. You have to miss the neighborhood pom-pom-poloway game because you've got to stay in and do homework. Yech. Whoever invented long division should be shot. 20

Page 26 text:

One of the boys The Kennedy male . . . trying to be one of the boys as he works to make his impression the right impression. He begins with a shave, as beards are out (reason: only 1 out of 9 senior boys has anything to shave anyway). His hair is fluffed and styled by his blow comb to make him look neat, but not too neat. On to his clothes. What he wears depends on where he's going, as there's an outfit for every occasion. For school, there's the studied casual look, with Levi's buffing the floors. After school, the uniform fits the season as everything changes except the smelly socks. Later, in the stands, his bare toes peek out of holey Adidas while the rest of him huddles under his eternal jeans, hooded sweatshirt, and letterjacket. Sunday is the day to please Mother. He lowers himself to wear the sweater she bought him. Mothers have questionable taste. Then comes Homecoming. . . the one and only time that it all comes to together. . . from gleaming shoes to his only pair of pants that aren't Levi's, from his tailored coat to his father's tie, to the special smile he reserves only for her. 22