Does any other senior besides me possess the mentality that as we leave Harvard-Westlake for good, the school itself will simultaneously cease to exist? That without our class, the school will stop functioning? That the class of 2008 has made such a vast impact and played such an integral part at Harvard-Westlake, that devoid of our presence, the school will seemingly give up on itself? This unrealistic and somewhat egotistical notion is not all too uncommon for a graduating senior. We think, and desperately hope, that we will be remembered.

I acquired a devastating epiphany the other day that utterly contradicts this assumption. Mikaila, my seventh grade sister, is running for student council. I went through the same process as a seventh grader; however, some fundamental aspects have changed. Now, instead of stuffing a ballot in a box during a free period, my sister and her classmates vote electronically on their computer at home. Just as old ways become outdated for savvy technology, will the class of 2008 be left behind in the dust as the classes of years to come surpass us? Will Chris Ballard’s ’08 student council triumph of getting a clock in the seventh grade locker area become trivial and unforgettable to the classes of 2012, 2020, and 2040?

Another aspect that honed in on our relative insignificance and my naïveté is observing Mikaila beginning her Harvard-Westlake career just as my path comes to a close. And next year, a whole new class will come. This is when I realized a sad but accurate fact: the class of 2008 is a mere piece of the Harvard-Westlake mosaic. Our deans may not remember us in ten years, the juniors and sophomores will inevitably find a way to survive without us, and in years to come, when the faculty and administration begins to gradually turnover, it may even seem like we were never even here.

Yes, indeed our foot step on the Harvard-Westlake walk of fame that was created when the concrete was still wet may be trampled upon, the pavement may be replaced, and the indent may be unrecognizable and concealed in 20 years; however, it will always be there, to build upon. And who cares who else remembers us? What is vital and touching is that we, the class of 2008, will always remember the small things. We will always remember when Matthew Krumpe nearly gave Robby Lewis a concussion as he did a flip during spirit week, or when our entire grade got kicked out of the library during finals week in ninth grade, or when Billy Goulston wrote a song for Erica Carpenter.

And even when high school seems like a distant memory of an unreal world, you can always phone an old friend who will make sure you remember that the class of 2008 was indeed unforgettable.