English 101

I’m fairly certain that when I was in college the only “A” I ever made was in freshman English Composition 101. I’ve often said that I’ve been gifted two talents in life: doing hair and writing. Now, that’s not to say I can’t do lots of other fun, helpful, creative, stupid things, but hair and words are at the top of the list. Maybe, for both, because I never stop talking. Just ask my parents.

Anyhoo.

I remember that while in English Comp 101 we had to write many stories, and one sticks out to me still to this day. I don’t have a great memory on specifics about anything, ever, but this one I remember because the story includes what is, hands down, one of the times in my life I’ve laughed the hardest, ever. I also knew that I had kept somewhere a scribbled, hand-written copy of that paper that had most assuredly been typed on a portable electric typewriter and turned in, never to be seen again. The ’80s were good to me.

As I sat at my desk today – well, The Lawyer’s desk that I took over – I was clearing an accumulation and came across my “baby book.” You know what I mean, the one where you list all your milestones throughout your life. My Mama kept up with it diligently until I married, and I’ve done it ever since. Every few years I update whatever happenings have happened and then neatly tuck the book away again. Well, today I went through the very random things stored in the little box with it and came across the gem – that scribbled-on piece of paper with all the memories attached. I read it, feeling, smelling, seeing all the pieces in my bedroom that made the story come to life. Then I read it again and wondered how I ever got an “A” on this paper. It was just so-so, nothing special. I’d give it a good “C+” if I were grading it today. I’d like to pretend my writing has come a long way since then, so just humor me, ok?

Here it is. Such that it is. I’m really trying hard to resist the urge to edit it, because honestly, it’s just not that good. But, I’m leaving it as is, and will always wonder how it got an “A.”

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Just recently, I had the experience of unboxing all of the thing I had carefully packed away many months ago. Once every year or so I have the urge to do this and this feeling hit hard last month. My bedroom looked like a tornado swept through (several times) with just emptied boxes and their content covering the floor. It brought back many old memories as I cleanded out. Memories not just in my mind, but in my Mother’s and Father’s, as well.

As they made periodic trips into my bedroom to see the things I was uncovering, they would make funny little comments and get all misty-eyed. It even created new memories as I shared some of the old, almost ancient, family artifacts with my boyfriend, Michael.

It all started with one drawer. Things began to fly around the room as I tried to make organized stacks of the old things that hadn’t been seen for so long. I began to come across the things that I was given and the things that I had collected when I was a little girl. There were the stamp sets, the old toy car, even the bag my mother used to carry my diapers in. All of these things I remember my mother telling me to not throw away as I was growing up, and now I’m glad I listened.

As I dug deeper into the drawer, I began to see things that I had inherited when my Granny died. There was her old handbag with her glasses and watch neatly tucked away inside. I pulled out the old cat-eye glasses and put them on for Michael to see. I don’t think either of us have ever laughed so hard! She had had cataract surgery years ago and her glasses were about half an inch thick, making my eyes look like flying saucers. I couldn’t see what I looked like with them on because the prescription was so strong, so I put them on Michael and I almost fell over! We finally stopped laughing about the glasses and I continued to search for more things in the drawer. There was a small box with an old mesh purse that Granny would use when she went “courting,” as it was called back then. It was very small, no more than six inches by 3. It had a painted design of flowers on it and was quite heavy for its size because of its metal material. There was another box with her old gloves in it and another with old handkerchiefs. Then, at the bottom of the stack, was some of my dad’s baby clothes. They were so small and frail from age. There was a little pair of overalls and a tiny winter sweater. I carefully packed these things in a box so not to lose them and went on sifting through the boxes under my bed. As I began to find the things I had saved from my high school days, I began to wonder why I kept most of it. There were old test papers – good and bad – that didn’t have any real significance. The stack of football programs that were all the same, notes passed secretly in class, and so many more things that somehow time had changed. They just didn’t register anymore. It was like I was going through someone else’s things and I don’t know or recognize what I was seeing. These things soon began to hit the garbage pile that had accumulated inside a bed sheet I found under a stack of boxes. As I sifted through the things from high school, I began to find a few articles from Junior high mixed in. There was my first identification card, of which the site excited me again as I suddenly felt myself surrounded by friends awaiting our turn to have our pictures made. Then of course, there was more junk, and it was soon discarded to the old sheet. I finally made it through the junior high paraphernalia and found myself re-living my elementary days. Sometimes it’s hard to think back that far and it’s often hard to believe that at one point in my life I could not read or write, but the report cards that I found made me smile because my teachers always had hope in me and my friends. I soon made it through all of the things I had saved from school and realized I had gone from six boxes to two and the old bed sheet had rapidly expanded to any enormous size. There were only a few boxes left to go through now. I soon found that their contents consisted of things like an old Girl Scout uniform and my first real winter coat. There was a frilly little dress that I had worn in a beauty pageant when I was about 6 years old, and another dress, my favorite one, that I wore when I was 11. I still hope that these dresses are in good shape and wearable when my little girl is old enough to wear them, because that is the reason I pack them up. When I finished admiring the dresses, I carefully refolded them and put them safely away. There was just one box to open now. I pulled it down from the top shelf in my closet and placed it in the center of my bed. I opened the lid and found that there were several stuffed animals I used to drag around, old toys, and a smaller box of – you guessed it – junk! I sifted through the smaller box and I threw it all away. So I put the animals back and added my high school yearbooks and closed the box once more. As I tried to lift the box to place it back on the high shelf, I immediately found that I was going to have a big problem. The books added so much weight to the box that I could hardly lift it, so I sat back and worked at the strategy and finally got the box to the shelf. After celebrating the victory of lifting the box to the shelf, I quickly turned around only to descend back to reality from the shock of the mess in my room gave me. So to save myself from any further torture I quickly began a spectacular cleanup job. I took the boxes, whose number had gone from a grand total of 12 to 5 or 6, and neatly stacked them next to the big one on the high shelf. Then I took the empty boxes and folded and put them away. I soon found that our house was out of garbage bags, so I made a run to the local convenience store. When I got back, I began to fill the bags with the contents inside the bed sheet and before I knew it I filled up six lawn bags full of junk. I felt relieved that I could see my carpet again and there were only a few things left to put away. When this task was over I would have completely accomplished the mission I had set for myself. So many times we take the things that mean so much to us and pack them away in boxes and trunks, only to come back months, maybe even years later, and discover all over again the things that remind us of time before. I enjoy going through those old things and hope that one day I can share them with a family of my own. September 8th, 1986

If you survived that excruciatingly difficult to read story, just know I found it hard to read, too. I’d like to think I’ve come a decent distance with my writing skills, and maybe added a little humor to my style, as well. I’m no Pulitzer candidate, so I’ll just have to keep the whetstone on these words right here in this 8-people-read-it blog. Thanks for riding atop this banana boat with me. I appreciate you!