As I was cleaning out my office, a never ending task if there ever was one, I came across a paper I wrote in October 1993. I would have been in 10th grade, I believe. I think the assignment was to write our autobiography as if we were adults, looking back on our lives. The first half was the truth, although I felt the need to highlight impertinent information, like the proximity of one of my houses to a playground, and a leather camel that was given to me by a friend in grade school. The second half was obviously made up. So here's how my life would have been had I stuck to my 10th grade guns and not settled for reality:
The summer after my junior year [in high school] was great. I spent two weeks in France with Mona, a friend of my grandmother's. She was really nice but very strict. After my return, my cousin Mark came to spend 5 weeks with us. We became very close.
OK I'm not sure why I said Mona was strict. Perhaps we got into some arguments when I asked her permission to run off and marry a Frenchman? My cousin Mark lives in England, his whole family does. I would assume that if he came to the US he would have brought his younger sister Marie with him. But apparently I wasn't interested in being close with her.
During my senior year I met Matt. I don't recall how we met, old age has gotten the best of me, but I do remember loving him with all my heart. I had dated before, but nobody had ever meant as much to me as Matt did. We stayed together throughout our senior year, and even during college, as far apart as we were.
I specifically remember choosing the name Matt because at time I didn't really know a Matt, plus my next door neighbor/best friend as a toddler was a boy named Matthew. Did you like how I conveniently developed Alzheimer's to avoid thinking up how I could have met my future husband? Who doesn't remember how they met the love of their life? The teacher even wrote "nice touch" next to that. At the time I thought it was a compliment but now I'm thinking there might have been some sarcasm in there. Hmm.
I had received a full scholarship in writing to Columbia University, the college of my dreams. Matt attended Georgetown University. By the time we'd graduated, we were very much in love and ready to make a commitment. So when he proposed marriage to me, I accepted.
Yeah, Columbia and Georgetown aren't really that far away from each other. It's not like I was on one coast and he was on the other. Our ability to stay together during college isn't really all that impressive. And is "writing" a major? I think it probably has to be more specific that that. Like creative writing, or journalism or something like that. I wouldn't really know, my first degree was in Mass Communications. Not writing.
Our wedding was beautiful. It was a large wedding with all our families and friends. Soon after that, a beautiful baby boy was born. Blond hair, blue eyes, just like his father. We were a happy family until two years later when a sweet little girl was added to the family. She looked a lot like me, her mother, with dark skin, dark eyes and dark hair. Just like my brother, Little Charlie, our son, felt he had to protect his little sister Stephanie. Charlie and Stephanie reminded me of Joe and myself.
Ha! OK first of all I never resolved the whole "we were a happy family until 2 years later..." thing. It sounds like the birth of my daughter Stephanie ruined the happy family. And I'm glad that I pointed out that she looked a lot like me, her mother. In case you forgot I was talking about my own daughter. And I think it's hilarious that I thought that I'd be ready to think about having a second child when the first was only about a year old. When SB was about a year, I was too busy thanking my lucky stars that I made it past the first year to think about a second child! Joe is my brother in real life, by the way. Nice guy....not very protective.
Oh- and how's this for creepy? 2-1/2 years after I wrote this, my father and his wife gave birth to my half-brother, then named him Charlie. Well, Charles. But we all call him Charlie. Yeah. Freaky!
For the first five years of Stephanie's life, Matt went to work every day while I stayed home with the kids. When they were old enough to stay home by themselves, I went to work. I had a job as a journalist for a local paper. It seemed like no time at all before Charlie had grown into a young man and moved out of the house to start a life of his own. Stephanie, herself, wasn't too far behind. I hung on as long as I could but they were adults now, and didn't need their dear old mother. They both got married and moved far away.
Wow, how impressive is that? My kids were supposed to be self-sufficient and responsible enough to stay at home on their own at ages 5 and 7 while I went to work! And why am I so depressing? I'm freaking going through Empty Nest Syndrome at age 15! Their dear old mother? Please! I bet I would be thankful to get Charlie and "Stephanie, herself" out of the house so I could have Matt all to myself again! I'm pretty sure he was hot.
But wait- here's the best part:
The last time I saw them was two years ago at my parents' funeral. They were both killed in a car crash. As I think about it now, I realize that I never got the chance to get to know them as people. I moved out at the age of 17 to go to college, but being a free person for the first time, I forgot all the love they gave me. I forgot about them and ran off to live my own life, writing and calling occasionally. It took me nearly 50 years to realize all my parents sacrificed for me and my brother. And now that I realize it, it's too late. But just like I do, I'm sure they had a special feeling in their hearts, knowing that I appreciated them, even though I never really said it.
OK. So I'm thinking that I was either really pissed off at my mom at the time, or she was pissed at me. I can't imagine why else I would put so much thought into killing off my parents. In a totally unlikely scenario, even! My parents were divorced! (They still are.) The only way that they could have both been killed in a car crash is if one hit the other. That would have been more believable. And they certainly wouldn't have shared a funeral.
And talk about morbid- that's the last time I saw my own two kids? At my parents' tragic funeral? I'm sure if they were somewhere really far away that I would have mentioned that. So they were probably fairly local. So in my teenage angst I was creating a dysfunctional future for myself. At least my daughter looked like me, my son looked like his father, and my husband was hot. I'm sure I said somewhere that he looked like Brad Pitt. It must be on the editing room floor. Oh come on, at least give me that. Can't I have one positive thing in my horrible miserable fabricated life?
All my teacher could really think to comment on this was "sorry".
That's why I took the time to write this. My children are the two dearest things in the world to me, and even though they have never said "thank you for loving me, mom," I want to let them know that they're welcome. I don't want them to have to live the last years of their lives feeling remorse for not being there for their poor old mother until it's too late.
Jeez. The "poor old mother" bit definitely comes from my mom. She's always been very much into the guilting thing. But what a depressing thing for a 15-year old to write. If I were to write it out now, I'd be focusing more on how much money I made and what enormous percentages of that went into creating charities and helping the unfortunate. I'd have to devote at least 2 pages to describing all of my 25 cars and how I hate it when the butler puts too much butter on my bread. I probably wouldn't even think to write in how my parents die.
My teacher's comments at the bottom: My. What a fascinating account of your "life"! You are a very good writer, BMore!
I got 50/50. A+. 100%.
I'm thinking she was on the sauce. How else could you get through 20 students' renditions of their lives en passe, including strict French women, ungrateful children, and hopelessly lonely and remorseful mothers killing off her own parents in a freak car accident?
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