I never walked the halls with my friends, told secrets in the bathroom, or made a trip to the principal’s office.

I didn’t sit on the wall out front, never slammed a locker, never danced to the band on the football field.

My mother did.

And my grandmother before her.

And it’s sad.

When you ask any of the PHS alumni, that’s what they will tell you. They are sad.

If the school was simply changing its name, that’s one thing. If the name were to remain and the buildings torn down, that’s another. Losing the building and the name, lost identity.

Composites, trophies, names in books to be passed down, all gone.

Red and white, gone.

Bulldogs, gone.

Yearbooks will be more cherished, T-shirts more loved and pictures more treasured.

Generations of students have passed through the doors at Prentiss High School. Doctors, lawyers, professional athletes, secret service agents, were all given a foundation in those classrooms.

Teachers spent hours helping and nurturing children.

Girls were taught how to sew and cook. Boys were taught how to weld and build.

Fortunately, memories are still there and live on in the hearts of each student who grew up in the small school in a small town.

Then loyal sons of Prentiss High,

Ye brave our hearts delight,

Unfurl your honored colors twain,

The scarlet red and white,

And as we link our hands today,

And lift our voice again,

The spirits of departed ones

Join in the glad refrain.