The Rumors of My Demise . . .

As Mark Twain said, "The rumors of my demise are greatly exaggerated."

It's clear that Facebook is a powerful social networking tool when you can go there and learn that at least some part of your world thinks you're dead.

In one of my first blogs I wrote that I have no friends left from before my college years. That statement has to be amended now . . . and the friend who surfaced last week on Facebook informed me that at my 50th high school reunion I was listed on the "In memory of . . ." page.

Facebook is not one of those sites I spend a lot of time perusing, but every so often I decide to see if I can find anyone from my distant past pre-LA State. That past includes probably 2 people who I would remember and who would remember me.

My parents--allegedly for my own good--yanked me out of my country high school in Vista after my sophomore year and threw me, kicking and screaming, into big-city San Gabriel High School. Let me state here and now that removing a teenager from the safety of the world she's known since she was three years old constitutes cruel-and-unusual punishment. It ruined what was left of my high school years. My junior year I wandered aimlessly, trying to figure out where and how I fit into a society totally foreign to me. My grades suffered along with my psyche. I can't tell you the number of times I wanted to bolt and run. Things turned around--somewhat--in my senior year, and I made a couple of good friends.

I lost touch with those friends almost immediately after leaving high school, although I've thought about them often over the years. I've even searched for them from time to time, but I'd given up any hope of locating them.

Of course I could have possibly caught up with them had I considered finding out about my high school reunions. But I couldn't face that. The memories from Vista were too nostalgic and those from San Gabriel too traumatic. No wonder San Gabriel High School believed I'd moved on to the Great Beyond. No one there had heard from me since the day I'd walked out of the school doors.

Betty Willhoft Johnson was one of those few friends who made my San Gabriel High days bearable, and the last time I ever saw or heard from her was when I served as a bridesmaid in her wedding, shortly after graduation. When she popped up on Facebook last week, it was totally unexpected--and a gift from the past.