Dear 1997 through 1999, I miss you and I fear nothing in life will ever be as good as you were.
There were several years before you, and there have been ever so many since. But you… you were the best. And I am sorry to say I never appreciated you as I should have, not the way you deserved. Like a wonderful lover who has come and gone—though I had no knowledge of such things then—I did not spend sufficient time basking in your glory, did not appreciate how soon you would be gone.
The first day of 1997 started at Holly D’Andrea’s house, as had the last three New Year’s days. She had a slumber party every New Years that involved sparkling grape juice, candy, candy, and more candy, VHS movies starring handsome men, and fantastic displays of gymnastics—the type preferred by the cheerleaders we all wished we were. Holly had made the pom-pon squad that year, which was close enough. She got to wear the pretty uniform that flattered the legs and butt; she got to perform in front of the whole st…