Call Me Irresponsible

Nothing makes me feel more irresponsible as an adult than losing something. I once dated a guy who lost practically everything, and I found that trait unbelievably annoying. And yet, I have also been guilty. As a child, I lost things quite often, of course. I remember one year, I lost both pairs of navy blue gloves I got for the winter (the original and the replacement pair). I kept looking for them on the door handle of the school bus (commonplace in Michigan - that stainless steel handle could get chilly - so the bus driver often put a lost mitten on it as a little cozy). But those gloves were never heard from again. Just one of many unsolved mysteries. During one summer when I was on the country club swim team, I impressively lost a beach towel, a great pair of goggles, and a SWIMSUIT! I mean, how do you lose a swimsuit? It was even the team swimsuit and everything, so when I had to compete after that, I had to be the ragamuffin kid in my generic speedo. I think of all the time I wasted looking for that stuff.

The thing about my losses as an adult is that they are lost but not forgotten. I try to tell myself to forget about it and move on, but I can't. Because the mystery is still alive. If I don't have it, where is it? I've been fortunate enough not to have a lot of things stolen from me, but I'm quite sure that is the explanation for a few of my missing items (gold bracelets, camera, a radio in the back of my car in high school - I hope to God no one stole that swimsuit, because that's just gross). And yet, I still can't accept the fact that those stolen items are gone. I think I would almost feel better if I SAW the thief take them, you know? Then at least I would know.

Anyway, what brings up this tangent is my search for the 1996 Purdue University Debris Yearbook. I classify this one as lost, but not stolen. During senior week at Purdue, there was a big debacle involving my sorority sisters and me getting prematurely kicked out of our house. So we ended up having to move out early and find somewhere else to shack for a few days before graduation. And that is when my Debris was lost. It has always bothered me. Not just because I was in the "front page" enlarged picture on the two pages covering my sorority but because it was my senior year. And that was something I just wanted to have for posterity. Today - 11 years later, I shot an e-mail to the yearbook staff at the Debris. Needle in a haystack, I know, but maybe somewhere there is a box of old yearbooks sitting in a corner, and they need to do a little spring cleaning. Surprisingly, there are quite a few Debris yearbooks on eBay, but I don't really need the 1949 edition.