Shedding memories is a byproduct of getting older and let’s face it; some of those good old days deserve to be forgotten.

One date I’ll never forget is June 10, 1955. The day I graduated from high school. For my generation, that milestone was looked on as the beginning of adulthood and the responsibility that went with it. Very few went to college. There was no money, no Pell grants, no such thing as a student loan and very few scholarships. Our generation changed that for future generations.

Windham’s high school graduation in the fifties was held in the gym of the school, today’s century-old town hall. The gym was also where we played basketball, danced to the rock and roll tunes of the day and held junior prom. Back then, the tradition was that the junior class held a prom for the seniors – or maybe it was the other way around, who can remember?

Prior to graduation day, since I had an “honor part”, i.e., salutatorian, I had to write and deliver a speech. Not a welcome event for someone who had spent her life being unobtrusive and hiding in a book whenever possible.

Graduation week began with the entire class attending church at Windham Hill. Baccalaureate was the first chance to wear our caps and gowns in public. Maroon for the men – white for the women. There was a special sermon about our changing role in life. Sometime during that week, Class Day was held with the presentation of scholarships and awards and finally, the eve of graduation arrived. My clothes were ironed and laid out.

My parents acted like I was receiving a doctorate degree. High school graduation in my generation was a huge accomplishment in an era when many youngsters quit school to help work on the farm or to get married. Only 50 percent of my class made it to graduation.

One more time, the memorized speech was presented to my attentive audience – my mother and the reluctant five younger siblings, who were not impressed with the speech nor the fact that I’d be wearing for the very first time ever, nylon stockings (no pantyhose in those days) and high heeled shoes. And like all the other females in the class, an appropriate white dressy dress to wear under the heavy gown. It was an uncomfortable getup, for sure. I couldn’t wait to get back into sneakers and jeans.

The whole event is a blur – it was hot in that gym where the basketball hoops reminded me of games played – the stage where we seniors sat in rows reminded me of one act plays I’d been involved with and when I looked at my classmates it never dawned on me that this would be the last time I’d see some of them. We’d spent about half our life together but this was the end of that phase. Now what?

No graduation party or Project Graduation was part of this event. Once the tassel had switched sides, school was over. Life began.

I was told after by my English teacher and mother that I’d skipped right over a paragraph of my speech – I guess no one else noticed. I have no idea what the topic was, as I never kept a copy. The whole idea of graduation for me was to get out of there. Move on. Take charge of my life. Get to work, which I did the very next day when I began working for an insurance company.

It probably took a couple or three years after I was finally living on my own and paying all my own bills and never having any time to myself because of demands of work – when I finally realized what the real world was about.

Kay Soldier lives in Windham.