Just Like Romeyo and Julyet

I just found this "Children's Newspaper" I wrote when I was probably in about second grade. It's pretty professional of me, considering I not only reported all the stories, but also took on the full responsibility of page layout, fact-checking, AND drawing the reporter's (me) picture by hand.

I really like this first story. I was always being warned about the dreaded UNDERTOE when we went to the beach, so naturally this is what I am warning my readers about.

!Danger!
A couple weeks ago a little girl about 6 years old, went out a little to far in the ocean. The undertoe was realy bad. The little girl drounded. A couple of day's later, a boy about 20 years old went out too far. A couple of day's later, (GAH! Unnessecary morbidity alert!) the body was found. So be carful when there's bad undertoe, and don't go out too far.

Things to Know (Did I mention HEADLINE WRITER as well?)
Today kid's in Amrica are helping save the earth. Picking up paper, soda can's, bodel caps, can all be helping save are earth. Like Romeyo and Julyet (nice), he saved her, and you can save the earth. (I've always been good with analogies.) Some kids are going to school all year around. (HOW IS THIS HELPING??) That's the story. Goin us next time on the Children's new's paper!!!


I wrote following class paper in sixth grade. Enjoy, and maybe try to cut Miss Braggy McBraggerson a bit of a break here.

My Life
September 14, 1995

My life is very blessed. I was baptized September 20, 1984, shortly after I was born on August 28. Then, my dad was transferred to Plano, Texas. That was when we moved from Houston to Plano in 1985. In 1986, my mom dressed me up as a clown for my first Halloween. (An equally important life event, obviously.) Then came the day in 1987 when I started preschool at Faith.

We were all very excited on July 13, 1988 when my mother had my brother, Clayton. (She arranged to have him in the Victorian area, apparently. Seriously, what is with the akward formality?) Next, in 1989, I started ballet lessons as a beginner. In 1990, I gave up ballet (As if I were some great trained dancer or something. Seriously? I probably had about three weeks of lessons total.) and tried soccer on my first team, the Unicorns. Then in 1991, we got an invitation to go visit my great-grandmother in Young Harris, Georgia. At the end of the second grade, I fell on my bike and broke three of my fingers, leaving me in a cast for the beginning of the summer. (Totally Ginger's fault, BY THE WAY.)

In October of 1993, my family got the joy of going to Disneyworld. And then in 1994, we traveled to Colorado. During the summer of 1995 my first book was published. (When it is one out of ONE, you cannot use the word first. And the "book" was part of a writing program at the local library-- you didn't have to be Lucy Maud Montgomery to be published.)

I love my life! (And what a way to end with such a well-thought out conclusion! You say you're an author?)

Looking for a job? Then you can have one and be famous!

Recently I was blessed with a sizable box of old school paper, art projects, art journals, and—guys. I’ve hit the mother load. I know you’ve been subjected to a lot of my journal entries, school reports, and the like, but this is good stuff. Check it:

First, judging from the handwriting, I’d say we have a memento from probably the 5th or 6th grade. I don’t know if it’s a lesson in writing definitions and examples or a history assignment about medieval times. In either case….

Did you get that, gentlemen? Make sure you always give ladies the right of way, even if you’ve been waiting “a long time.” Where said lady is passing I’m not quite sure, but this must be a good lesson in “ladies first.” You should probably be taking notes.

I drew this masterpiece when I was nine:

No, this is not a self-portrait. I'm pretty sure this is some version of what I wished to look like. I mean, seriously. What's not to love? Neon colors? Check. Dangly earrings? Check (Oh, wait look! Double pierced! Check check!). Braces like all the cool older kids had? Check! And- most importantly- curly hair. The heavens might as well open up now and annoint this girl the Most Slammin' Look Ever award. She's earned it.

Next, from circa 4th or 5th grade. We must have been studying ancient Egypt… I have no idea what the assignment was.

Carvers Needed!
Looking for a job? Then you can have one and be famous! We are carving a new thing called a sphinx. It is half lion and half man.
Hours: 6:00 A.M. to 7:00 P.M.
Age: 16-50 years
All days a week but Sunday
10 miles west of the Nile
Pay: 50 cents an hour
Call me @ 1800-950-Valerie
(How can you be famous? It will be big!)

Just 10 miles west! You know, of any point on THE NILE. Just start anywhere! Pretty easy to find. Other than that, I mean, this seems pretty fair to me. What? You will be paid and YOU WILL BE FAMOUS. Because hello. It will be big.

Now a gem from third grade. This is labeled a “Writing Activity.” But it also comes with the added bonus of a drawing!

I always laugh at the dinner table when my brother takes the ketchup and says, “Oh I love you ketchup!” He blinks his eyelashes in a romantic way. He loves ketchup and even puts it on his ham!

Oh, HAM! Lol... I have no idea what I am even talking about. Clay would have never done something like that. Plus, he would have been in preschool when I wrote this! Sorry, Clay….

We did an enormous poetry unit in the 5th grade, which culminated in a project that I see now is called "Valerie's Book of 24 Poems." Yes, I am creative. Check out some of my genius!

Self-Portrait

My life is like a box, covered in wrapping
My eyes are like microschopes
My teeth are steel.
My hair is soft.
My heart holds joy
That is blue as the sea.
I live in a pleasant house
And eat tasty food.

Blue...joy....what?? Oh, and thanks for the pleasant house, Dad. That was aces.

Finally, I bring you the required horse drawing. You're just not a 5th grade girl without one!

I really have no idea why my parents did not encourage me to pursue a career in the arts. Baffling, isn't it?

The year was 1996...

...And it was a magical year to be me.

-Hello contacts.

-Good-bye braces.

-Farewell Algebra 1 (Oh wait, you passed because you can sweet talk your way out of anything. You will have to retake this again in 9th grade - and still struggle for a B. Sucker.)

-Shortalls. (You stay classy.)

-Nice jorts combo with the socks and loafers. (Photo likely taken in 1995.)

-Thank goodness for TGIF (The best line up: Full House, Step By Step, Boy Meets World, and Perfect Strangers. NO thank you Family Matters and Sabrina the Teenage Witch)

-I love Saturday Mornings on TNBC. (Teen NBC - Saved by the Bell, Hang Time, California Dreams)

-Girl Scout trip to home of Girl Scout Founder Juliet Lowe in Savannah, Georgia. Entire trip paid for with cookie sales. Boo-yah.

-Socks + Sandals = a winning look. Lookin’ good.
-Way to graduate 8th grade from a small private school and enter a big and scary 5A public school. (Making it through the 1st day of high school without being shivved and only sobbing once - VICTORY! Shank you, shank you very much.)

-No more practicing piano at 6:15am. "We were on a break!" (Read: QUIT)

-Hooray for pithy journal entries that say things like: "This is my link to the past..." Thank you Captain Obvious.

-HAIR FAIL. Perm.

-Filling out an application to be the Brio girl was an absolute highlight. Dear Susie: pick me!

-LYLAS. Love you and you and you...like a sister. (Don’t read into that too much, Val and I still side hug.)

Better late than ever...

Sometime in my third grade year, I was one of 20 young children returning from lunch rather loudly with exciting plans laid. I was also one of the bravest (read stupid) girls - or so I wanted everyone to believe. I'm not sure of the particulars anymore, of who issued the challenge or why only 3 of us took it on - all I know is that feeling of panic and dread that washed over my body as Mrs. Tall grabbed the Spanish-English dictionary from my hands. It was my purple and yellow copy that I used from 1-8th grade. (I never told my mom that everyone else had a red version with larger print.)

Anyways, she, Mrs. Tall, must have been alerted to the goings on as soon as she entered the room. 3 students wide-eyed flipping through their Spanish dictionaries while the rest of the class gathered around giggling and speaking wildly. Aaron, Jesse, and I were marched to her desk individually for questioning. Very calmly she asked me to tell her what I had been looking up in my purple and yellow dictionary. Hah. No way was I budging for this lady. I knew the boys wouldn't cave - and as brave as I pretended to be, I always had a desire to please my teachers and remain in their good graces. She looked at me through those grey eyes that I'm sure could have made Mother Theresa feel guilty. Perhaps I started tearing up, but I wouldn't buckle. I didn't say a word...and neither did any of the kids in my class - perhaps because it had all begun in eight year-old mob mentality in the first place. Before she sent me back to my seat, Mrs. Tall gazed at me steadily and said, "Well, I can't make you tell me what you were doing, but I want you to tell your parents when you get home." Sure I will.

I wish I could have taped not only that conversation, but also the one that followed in my head after my time at the judgment seat.

"Mom, dinner is so good. Dad, please pass the butter. Oh, by the way, after eating my bologna sandwich at lunch today...some of the bad kids...you know, like Tara and Chauncey (hah!) - they thought it would be funny to look up words in Spanish like fish and ball...hmm...oh yes, this meatloaf is good...umm, so yeah - we went back and looked up the word sex, only we couldn't find it see, because the print in my version is so small and we didn't have time and may I be excused please?"

It would have been a blast. Cheerio then.

Triple Threat

No, I have not added dancing to my resume. I’m the child my mother swiftly moved from ballet to gymnastics and then to softball. I'm referring to a different kind of triple threat.

I was glancing back through photographs and was reminded of the triple threat Ginger that existed from 6th-8th grade. Glasses, braces, and bangs. It’s a sight to behold. And yet I maintained my relatively popular status until my departure to high school. How is this possible you ask? Private school, 20 kids in my whole class, popularity was almost a given, even if you brought Vienna sausages for lunch.

I went to the same private school from 3-year old preschool through 8th grade. The building had two stories and the playground was fitted with monster truck tires painted in primary colors. We went to chapel every Wednesday morning and watched safari films on reels on occasional Friday afternoons.

In 1st-4th grade we ate lunch at 11:30, the older grades at noon. We weren't allowed to trade food. I'm not sure if this was a private school choice, a Christian school rule, or a Lutheran school mandate. Regardless, I can still remember my heart pounding as Mrs. Short hauled Katie McQuillen and myself into the hallway after we tried to trade oreos for chocolate chip cookies. We were properly admonished and sent back to the table. This may have stopped me for a time, but the years brought skill and confidence to our underground ring. I spent 8 years in that lunch room and we always traded.

Even if you weren't allowed to trade at your school I bet you probably did not have a stoplight in your lunchroom. The stoplights' colors, controlled by the teachers, registered the appropriate sound levels. Rowdy lunches were simply quieted by a yellow light and eventually silenced by the red.

And even in the midst of these sanctions on volume and free trade, we still managed to eat, grow, and turn out fairly normal, at least most of us.

*Recipe for a Sodium Sandwich

2 pieces of wheat bread

Vienna Sausages halved and laid on bread

Frito's brand corn chips

1 slice of American cheese

Combine all in sandwich, eat, and enjoy. (Eating too frequently can cause heart problems)

Sticks and stones

I can’t imagine that anyone has escaped from this life without at least once feeling as though they didn’t fit in and therefore either stood out or simply blended into the patterned wall paper. I was one of those children who wanted to be noticed. I wanted to present my projects first, to volunteer to read aloud, or to audition for the solo or concert. As I prepare to address the topic of beauty from the inside out with first through sixth graders, I'm reminded of how quickly comments from others could zing away at my confidence level. The unkind boy at my grandmother’s swim club, the girl I overheard in passing at camp. The comment that has come to mind most often over the years was actually spoken by a child, but given life by an adult.

I remember the start of 4th grade as if it were yesterday. Our classroom was oddly located overlooking the school gym, making concentration next to impossible if any other class happened to make their way to P.E. during a test. The carpet was peach and we had windows that also faced the back parking lot and soccer fields. The room was on the second floor and had a long closet where we could hang our backpacks and lunch boxes or travel down to the computer lab at the other end of the hall.

I can’t recall what I wore on the first day of school, but I vividly remember Aaron walking up to me quite candidly and piping up that “My dad said you got fat this summer.” Not, “How was your summer?” or “I wonder what 4th grade will be like?” or even “I don’t like Mrs. So and So already.” Not only do I wonder what compelled Aaron to share this information, but I also wonder what made his father decide to proclaim such a message to his son. I have seen my 3rd and 4th grade photos, and there is no denying that my face goes from petite to round.

One sentence and I carry it always. Our words must be more than censored or filtered when speaking with children. Our hearts must be in tune to the ways their ears pick up and record not only our word choice, but our tone of voice as well. Our words, spoken and written, have so much power…to build and to break.

Sabbath

I am such a mixed up person. I have this desire to take life slowly and enjoy it as it comes. But I also have a desire to make decisions, to run around, and to accomplish as many things as possible before my eyes close at night. (I couldn’t even type “before my head hits the pillow” because a lot of the time I’m still making lists or doing things once I get into bed.)

I spent a large part of my afternoon in a Gelato shop that was playing some great music. After the 93 degree heat outside (yes, it IS November) the cool interior was a real treat. I sat down with “East of Eden” for the better part of an hour. Every so often the guilt would creep in and I would feel the need to flee the scene and become responsible and accomplished with my afternoon…but the music was so nice, and the smell from the neighboring Coffee Shop so comforting…that I couldn’t. I just couldn’t t myself away from the enjoyment.

Usually, the responsible side of me wins. I never stay in one place for very long, perhaps something I picked up from an overly productive father. I walk into a coffee shop to read or study and end up leaving after 30 minutes, the moment I have finished my purchase. I don’t know what the deal is. I’m trying hard to balance this out. But even now, I am gazing at the clock on the wall of the library knowing that I should hop on the elevator to take me to class…but it’s not really time for class…I just like to be responsible and early.

Perhaps that is why I’m generally the first one at the party…the first one for jury summons this morning, and by far one of the first ones to leave a gathering. I’m pretty sure I’m not socially awkward, but I do find myself increasingly inept at rest and recuperation.

Hmm…maybe I’m onto something. Didn’t God say something about having a Sabbath? I think that sounds ri ----- better go. Don’t want to be late to being early to class.

Those Awful High School Years

"High school is hard. I don’t care who you are: Band geek, mathlete, burnout, jocktard, or prom queen. Psychologically, there is no three-to-four year period in most people’s lives as harrowing and emotionally traumatizing as those the hours between 8 and 3, Monday through Friday, three seasons a goddamn year. That the most of us can muster the mental courage it takes to wake up every morning and subject ourselves to the daily firing squad, the humiliation pratfalls, and the torment of super-heightened self-awareness is a testament to the great unrecognized fortitude of teenagedom." --Pajiba.com

You hear a lot about how hard high school was. The backstabbing, the lying, the embarassment. But that wasn't me at all. If high school was hard, it's because my classes were hard.

I couldn't tell you who the most popular people in my school were, because I wasn't tapped into that world at all. The band and colorguard were my domain, not anything outside those walls. If you were in an organization like band, you know how much it can just be its own appendage of the school. My senior year the band ran its own candidate for homecoming queen, and she won. She also won prom queen.

I've read a lot of criticism of "High School Musical" saying that it's just not representative of what high schools are actually like because they left out the drugs, parties, sex, etc. But for me, Taylor High School was a lot more "High School Musical" than "Dangerous Minds."

In movies like "Mean Girls," there is a set "queen bee" of the school, and everyone not only knows who they are, but also want to be like her. That's just not the way things were at my school at all. I'm not sure if this is due to my not being interested in the social scene or if our school is just too big for something like that, but it just wasn't there.

Similarly, I don't recall a lot of girls in my circle being extra mean to each other, spreading lies and rumors and generally just making life hard for other people. I do recall there being some idiot guys and girls who bragged about drinking and getting into trouble, but they were more of the weird outcasts than anyone else.

So maybe I missed out on the "high school experience." But from what I have observed of other high schools, it looks like I just missed out on the "Hollywood high school experience."

80s in the 90s

Echoing the unfortunate post below, I would like to back my sister's statements and verify that the 11 years at private school really does have such a detrimental effect. On my first day of 7th grade, I wore high top tennis shoes, denim shorts, and a black shirt underneath a sleeveless pink button up shirt. Left open, because I am sassy like that. In addition, I wore my hair in a side ponytail. No, I think you need to read that again. My hair. Side ponytail. Also, please bear in mind that we are not talking about the 80's here. I started the 7th grade in 1996. Please allow that to sink in.

Let it also be known that Ginger was my stylist. It's true. Often she helped me pick out a "cute" outfit, and the first day of school was certainly no exception. Read that again. The girl with the socks and sandals. Picked out. My clothes.

I don't know what kind of time warp existed in that school to allow an otherwise perfectly sane person to not only dress like that, but to actually fit in. If I ever get to the bottom of this mystery, I'll be sure to let you know.

What am I, German?

On the first day of 8th grade I wore white socks and sandals. I confess. I wish I had the picture and could scan it in. Black granola sandals, white socks (not ankle, but maybe calf length), black short-overalls, and a pink polo shirt. Please add to that equation braces, a home perm, and glasses. The picture is amazing.

The most alarming part is not the black denim jort overalls, but the socks and the sandals. I would like to plead the 11th. The 11th is the 11 straight years that I spent in the parochial school system with the same 20 people in my class. As part of our dress code we could not wear t-shirts, holes in our jeans, sweat pants, or shoes without socks. Who can blame a girl for wanting to wear sandals on her first day of 8th grade?