The year was 1982. We danced to Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” album and watched “E.T.” on the silver screen. John Belushi died and Prince William was born. We exercised to Jane Fonda video tapes and never missed watching “Dynasty” on TV. Gas cost 91 cents a gallon and a stamp two dimes. We were spooked by the Tylenol scare and held our breath as the recession began.
It was a year of promise and pain, of sweetness and sorrow.
But it was OUR year.
We were the Class of 1982, and we were ready to take on the world.
Doug (Yearbook post)
To a very, very sweet girl I got to know a little better this year. Hope to see you over the summer.
I didn’t see Doug over the summer. In fact, I didn’t see him until his funeral. He wore his favorite Phillies T-shirt and looked peaceful inside the bronze casket with the almond velvet interior. Doug was killed in an accident near the mini mart in town. Something about ice and slick and telephone pole. Every time I drive by the spot and see the wooden cross with his name on it my heart aches. Doug was the first person in our class to die. I was used to old people dying, not a 19-year-old who had his whole life ahead of him. RIP Doug. We’re all better for having known you.
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