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Capturing Memories

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I never thought getting our high school results, leaving middle school, and entering high school were big deals. Until Tuesday, March 12, 2013, which also happened to be three days before my middle school’s eighth graders finally received their high school acceptance (or rejection) letters.

It also happened to be the evening of the teachers versus students sporting event.

As we waited for our friends’ turn to play basketball, my clique and I were caught up in taking pictures of each other on their expensive smart phones. After getting a few shots, I decided to flip through one of my pal’s Samsung Galaxy photo galleries. Scanning through the various blurry images, I was delighted to see numerous pictures of our clique happily smiling together, nonchalantly leaning against each other, and making silly faces for the camera. These people were the same people that I had bonded and grown close with over the past three years, the same people that I had spilled my heart out to multiple times, and the same people that I had trusted with almost anything. All our shared memories flooded my head, merely because of a few photographs.

I was then reminded that I didn’t have a high-quality phone or a pricey camera to capture these recollections. I was disappointed and angry. Why did all my friends have phones that could account for our experiences and I didn’t? It wasn’t fair. And the fact that most of my friends were probably attending separate high schools made me feel even worse.

As my father drove us home, I received a text from him that he had actually sent ten minutes earlier.

“Stupid A T & T,” he muttered. Yes! I thought to myself, This was my chance to beg for a better phone.

“Yeah. I know, right? My phone really sucks.”

“Caitlin, it doesn’t suck. You’re lucky you even have a phone. You know we can’t afford to have four iPhones in the house.”

“I know, Dad. It’s just that... it’s my last yearhere and I want to have something to remember senior year by. And all my friends have phones with good cameras anyway.”

“Please. I don’t care what your friends have. We’ll wait till this fall and see what your mother has to say.”

“I can get a new phone this year?!”

“We’ll see...”

I sighed. How many times had I heard that come out of his mouth? It wasn’t going to happen. I was going to be stuck with this stupid, ugly, lagging Pantech for the rest of my life. I looked out the window and pouted.

But as I thought about it, I reminisced over both my good and bad experiences at the school I had come to love and the place I had considered my second home. I recalled our multiple middle school accounts-the first day of school, the 7th grade barbecue, the day I cried before even opening up my high school results, the senior trip, the moment I walked across the stage at graduation, and the last day of school.

I’ve come to the realization that I don’t need a fancy Apple product or a professional Nikon camera to remember my years at this sacred place. These memories will always be stored somewhere in my brain; I don’t need a smart phone to prove that they happened.

I mean, how could I forget them?

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