Narrator: In high school, appearances are everything. The way you look. The way you wish you didn't look. Nobody is satisfied. Which is maybe why...throughout the halls and classrooms... we hear the one universal cry.
Ricky: What's wrong with me?
Narrator: Ricky Holsenbach. When it came to inferiority complexes, he had them all.

Narrator: It seems to me, a wedding means something different to everyone. To some, it's an occasion for simple pleasures. And for others, a wedding's implications are more profound. For some... it's a time for contemplation. For others, a time for regrets. A chance to measure just how far we've come in life... against the promise of those just starting out.

Narrator: It was a testament to romance at its finest and most pure. It was a declaration of virtue. Simple, and gracious, and real. And after a day of infidelities... some proposed and planned, some more subtle... I felt for the first time... that someone believed in something a little different. In love. In commitment. In each other. It almost made me glad to be there. I guess you could say that weddings mean a lot of things to a lot of people. We might cry at the romance unfulfilled in our own lives. And shrink at the unseen compromises our lives have held for us. But weddings also bring out hope. And promise. And possibility. After all, as we choose our partners... some of us make our choices for life. And some of us dance with just one of many. And sometimes - for the lucky ones - we remember why we picked who we did. And after years of fighting over burnt toast...and bounced checks... we might, for a brief moment... look at each other as we once did - before kids, and mortgages and routine conspired against us. And others are content to postpone their choices... knowing somehow, that the future, like that Saturday afternoon, will tempt us with dances - both slow, and fast.

Narrator: It was that simple. And it was that complex. Love can kill you. It can tear you apart. But if you're very lucky... it can bring you back together. Sometimes love is unexpected... and unpredictable. And sometimes... you just have to go with your heart. And hope for the best.

Narrator: Junior year was a time of... exploration. A time for expanding horizons, broadening perspectives, seeking answers to little-known questions. It was an opportunity to grapple with the great issues of our day, which as it happened, boiled down to only two. One was sex. Miss Farmer. Our social studies teacher. In one of the great cosmic ironies of our time... the board of education had hired her to mold and develop our formative young minds.

Narrator: My father worked at NORCOM over half his life. And eventually... he rose to the ranks of middle management. Where every day, was filled with crisis... challenges... and Rol-Aids. Yep... through the years my father had given a lot to NORCOM. And now... he had given them... Wayne. My brother had been employed in the mail-room for about six months. Don't ask me how. And if his work-ethic didn't exactly match Dad's... at least he was trying to find a niche for himself. Make new acquaintances. Bonnie Douglas. She was twenty-three, funny, smart, and, oh yeah - divorced. It was no wonder Wayne felt the way he did. Whatever Dad felt about all of this... he was keeping it to himself. Like all the Arnold men... he had a lot of things on his mind.

Narrator: On the afternoon of March 21, 1973, at exactly 2.15 PM, a rare astronomical event occurred - a total eclipse of the sun. As the sun, the moon and the earth began to move in line... so did we. A field trip. It was a chance to bring education to the unwashed masses of the junior class. Like Harlan Abramson, McKinley's living monument to polyunsaturated fats. Or Mary Jo Genaro. Senior year, she became the first girl at McKinley to take her parole officer to the prom. Louis Lanahan. When mankind discovered fire, they had not quite counted on Louis. And so, in a cloud of smoke and a mighty Hi-ho, Silver!... we were on the way to the Nierman planetarium. Thirty-four students and one teacher on the road to higher education - such as it was. All in all it was the lead opportunity to exchange ideals outside the confines of the classroom. To expand the boundaries of higher education. To go where no man had gone before.

Narrator: Once upon a time there was a girl I knew that lived across the street. Brown hair, brown eyes. When she smiled, I smiled. When she cried, I cried. Every single thing that happened to me that mattered, in some way, had to do with her. That day Winnie and I promised each other that no matter what, we'd always be together. It was a promise full of passion and truth and wisdom. It was the kind of promise that could only come from the hearts of the very young.

Narrator: One thing a kid learns growing up, is that life... is a series of risks. It's a cause-and-effect relationship. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Still, with the proper guidance, we learn to deal with the risks. And pretty soon, we set out into the world... sure in our options, confident of our choices. Until, that is... eleventh-grade. The year of decisions. Around the middle of junior year... the risks increase. Almost overnight, the choices get harder. One guess why. The scholastic aptitude test. The living nightmare of American adolescents. Like some kind of biblical curse... the SAT's had descended on our class... reducing even the most-intelligent among us to a state of... flop-sweats.

Narrator: Over the years, a family develops a kind of character. A sense of heritage. A feeling of roots. For my family, those roots extended all the way to the back of our garage. It was kind of our Plymouth Rock. The final week of nineteen-seventy-two. Where I lived, it was a time of change. Most particularly in the person of... my new brother. Sure - maybe this looked like the same doofus I'd shared a room with for fifteen years... but in one way, he was different. Wayne was in love. And somehow... our garage was never gonna be the same again. Not that I begrudged the guy his good fortune. After all, he'd found the girl of his dreams. Bonnie Douglas. Twenty-three, divorced, and mother of one. But it wasn't what he'd done that was so perplexing... it was how he was doing it.

Narrator: So maybe that New Year's Eve 1972 didn't work out exactly like any of us planned. There was heartbreak we didn't anticipate, and events we couldn't have imagined. Still, it wasn't all bad; there was a magician. So, maybe there was a message in it all. The future was calling us. And no matter what, there was no turning back now.

Narrator: So... we went home. That day, I thought about a lot of things, like hometowns, like family - the shortcomings, the flaws, the arguments. Still, in the world of inconsistency and doubt... maybe home is what you make it. Like I said, most suburbs were about the same. Sure, some may have been a little bigger, and some may be have been a little greener... there was only one real difference. Only one of them... was yours.

Narrator: Teen logic. At sixteen, it was a tool we used with abandon. And this logic came in all shapes and sizes. We used it to help us through life's tough moments. It helped explain our behavioral oddities. But never was out logic more useful, then when it lent credence to a really hot rumor. It was a dull week in the winter of 'seventy-three. So the rumor had spread like wildfire. By junior year, I'd been down the old rumor-trail... one too many times. Maybe I was a little tough on the guy... but it was so clear to anyone with even a semblance of intelligence. Unfortunately... a semblance of intelligence was in short supply.

Narrator: That afternoon, Dad and I took the tour. We talked furniture. We talked life. We made plans. And the next morning, at 8:00 AM, seventy-eight students gathered in the McKinley cafeteria to take what was supposed to be the most important test of their lives. Everyone had a different way of coping that day. Some were more effective than others. But for all the risks and choices, I was one step ahead of them. After all, I knew that this was just one test in thousands I'd be taking in my life. None of them final, none of them irrevocable. And the way I saw it, maybe life was a risk. But this time, I was ready.

Narrator: The hardest part of growing up is having the ones you've always turned to, turn to you.