... a classmate of mine shared this over on Facebook recently. If I'm doing the math right, this should be our 6th grade "graduation" picture (I guess we were graduating out of the the Lower School at that point), hence being the "Class of 1969" (as opposed to being the high school class of 1975 - see icon pic).
As much as I lament the dwindling "old crowd" around Live Journal, it never had the draw for the masses that Facebook seems to have. As I've said from early on, FB had one "killer app" which was re-connecting you with folks you haven't talked to (or likely even thought of) in 30 years. What's amazing is that perhaps a dozen of the people in this picture are on Facebook, vs. about a half a dozen being deceased. I was always an "early adopter" of computer stuff, and was out of step with many folks my age. Heck, my best friend from college barely has an email address, let alone a "social media presence" which makes it (as my readers here can certainly appreciate) very hard to keep up with him, given that "via the computer" is pretty much the only way I interface with folks anymore!
Now, I think it's pretty self-evident which of the 12-year-olds in the picture I am ... but maybe that's because I recognize many of the faces here as being not-me, and you might pick up on erroneous cues. I'm the one with the "T" in Latin sticking out of his head (needless to say, I prefer my 1975 look better). If you need a better look, clicking on the image will provide a much larger version.
A lot of these folks are still around ... and I run into them on the bus every now and again. Heck, I had a jaunt down to Chinatown for a late-night snack with one of the ladies in the front row here just this past weekend. When I wrote about similarities to my school and that of the kids in The Classmates, an example of that would be that five of the kids in this picture were 3rd generation "legacies" at Latin ... which was also Nancy Reagan's alma mater.
Of course, being the moody, morose, kind of curmudgeon that I've become, looking back at this only screams of opportunities missed, promise never fulfilled, and the failure I have become. I suppose it would be more cliché if I weren't sober in the reflecting, but I guarantee you that it's more painful this way.