Sunday, December 11, 2011

Week 1 Theme part one (Just playing some catch up!)

As A Child 

I can't say that I remember every day of my life, every second, or maybe there are even months of my life that I've once lived but don't remember now. But every piece of my life has created a person. It's amazing how small experiences can have such little impact - and sometimes the biggest mistakes don't affect you at all.
I've felt as hopeless as everyone else - I've felt as low as I believe everyone feels - I've felt that pure happiness that at some point will find us all. It may not be constant like a light that is switched on, maybe it's like a bumble bee flying. It goes up, it goes down, but it's still moving.
As an adult, I'm a bit of a realist.
But as a child, I was a dreamer.
I wanted to be a movie star, I wanted to be a singer, I wanted to be a famous author. I was fascinated, and still am, with weather. Why? Weather is unpredictable and it can govern our lives. So I wanted to be a meteorologist.
I had a bowl cut and big round, pink glasses. I ran around in the woods without shoes, I spent all of my time with my two siblings.
We were poor, but I never noticed. No, I didn't have boxes full of Barbies like my friends did, but there was always food on the table.
I used to listen to my parents fight on the stairs; I'd sit on my roof under the stars and think. I sang to myself all the time.
As a child, my enthusiasm was unstoppable. I believed every person was good. I smiled at strangers and always said 'hello'; it never occurred to me that they could throw me into the back of a van and I'd never see my parents again.
I thought that I'd always be as happy as I was as a child.
I strongly, completely and wholly believed in Santa, the Easter Bunny and every other holiday magical creature. I went to church and my mom would pinch my leg when I made too much noise; I spent every other weekend playing on the bay outside of grandparents' house; I climbed to the tippy top of trees. Once, I climbed to the top of a tree next to a house my dad was putting a new roof on. I thought he'd kill me when I called his name and I was ten feet from him. I was so high up that tree that it was bending at my weight.
I had skinned knees and rough feet. I caught frogs in my pond and went hunting with my dad; even if all I did was make noise and ask too many questions. My elementary school was small. I'd sneak sips of my dad's Budweiser when he wasn't looking.
I stacked wood all winter; I didn't wear sunscreen; I didn't wear a helmet or knee pads when I rode my bike.
Somehow, I'm still alive.
At this age, writing was by far my biggest passion. I wrote all the time and enjoyed every minute of it. Teachers would read my stories aloud, and I would bask in the glory. I wrote stories about fantastical beings and creatures. I dreamed of stories about witches and mermaids; I wanted to write books that would be bigger then the Harry Potter series.
As a child, writing was something that I just did because I did. I wrote essays for fun, I wrote stories to let everyone read... I thought writing was the biggest dream I'd ever have.

2 comments:

  1. Holliann--worth waiting for! I like very much your slow lead-in approach. You get to the writing but rightly decide that the last graf would be thin stuff without the preliminary portrait. This is particularly excellent writing:

    I had a bowl cut and big round, pink glasses. I ran around in the woods without shoes, I spent all of my time with my two siblings.
    We were poor, but I never noticed. No, I didn't have boxes full of Barbies like my friends did, but there was always food on the table.
    I used to listen to my parents fight on the stairs; I'd sit on my roof under the stars and think. I sang to myself all the time.
    As a child, my enthusiasm was unstoppable. I believed every person was good. I smiled at strangers and always said 'hello'; it never occurred to me that they could throw me into the back of a van and I'd never see my parents again.
    I thought that I'd always be as happy as I was as a child.
    I strongly, completely and wholly believed in Santa, the Easter Bunny and every other holiday magical creature. I went to church and my mom would pinch my leg when I made too much noise; I spent every other weekend playing on the bay outside of grandparents' house; I climbed to the tippy top of trees. Once, I climbed to the top of a tree next to a house my dad was putting a new roof on. I thought he'd kill me when I called his name and I was ten feet from him. I was so high up that tree that it was bending at my weight.
    I had skinned knees and rough feet. I caught frogs in my pond and went hunting with my dad; even if all I did was make noise and ask too many questions. My elementary school was small. I'd sneak sips of my dad's Budweiser when he wasn't looking.
    I stacked wood all winter; I didn't wear sunscreen; I didn't wear a helmet or knee pads when I rode my bike.
    Somehow, I'm still alive.

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