School girl days
Today in our public speaking class we had to talk about a defining moment in our childhood.
I think I might have made my moment a bit more defining than it actually was, but here's the essential story.
When I was eleven-almost-twelve (August 17, 1990) my cousins moved from Florida, where we all lived, to Lancaster. My cousins were like the biggest part of my social life to that point. I'd had some friends off and on at school, but my family was definitely where I felt most comfortable. We played together all the time . . . long after my friends had outgrown their Barbies, etc., my cousins and I were still creating stories with ours. We did so much together, and I was horrified when I heard they might be moving, and just plain sad when they actually left.
The morning that they left we ate egg casserole for breakfast, after they'd all spent the night at our house because theirs was packed. We hung out, and I felt sick to my stomach, and then it was time for them to go. I was laying on the floor, I remember, and they all walked by to say goodbye. I just looked at their feet and wept.
None of us quite knew what to do. My dad probably went out to mow the lawn. My mom, my brother, and I went to see Back to the Future III, because we needed something else--anything else--to think about.
Today in class, I spun this into a story about how the leaving forced me to break out of my shell, make new friends, and get comfortable with people. However, I'm not sure that it actually did. I did make more and different friends in my years in middle and high school, but I probably would've done that anyway.
My life did change that day, and my college choice and my choice to move to this area probably came about because of that original move. But I think that mainly it was my first lesson in the fact that no matter how badly a thing sucks, and how badly you DON'T want it to happen and pray that it won't, and how much you don't think you'll survive . . . you do, and you can, and after a while things seem normal again.
I think I might have made my moment a bit more defining than it actually was, but here's the essential story.
When I was eleven-almost-twelve (August 17, 1990) my cousins moved from Florida, where we all lived, to Lancaster. My cousins were like the biggest part of my social life to that point. I'd had some friends off and on at school, but my family was definitely where I felt most comfortable. We played together all the time . . . long after my friends had outgrown their Barbies, etc., my cousins and I were still creating stories with ours. We did so much together, and I was horrified when I heard they might be moving, and just plain sad when they actually left.
The morning that they left we ate egg casserole for breakfast, after they'd all spent the night at our house because theirs was packed. We hung out, and I felt sick to my stomach, and then it was time for them to go. I was laying on the floor, I remember, and they all walked by to say goodbye. I just looked at their feet and wept.
None of us quite knew what to do. My dad probably went out to mow the lawn. My mom, my brother, and I went to see Back to the Future III, because we needed something else--anything else--to think about.
Today in class, I spun this into a story about how the leaving forced me to break out of my shell, make new friends, and get comfortable with people. However, I'm not sure that it actually did. I did make more and different friends in my years in middle and high school, but I probably would've done that anyway.
My life did change that day, and my college choice and my choice to move to this area probably came about because of that original move. But I think that mainly it was my first lesson in the fact that no matter how badly a thing sucks, and how badly you DON'T want it to happen and pray that it won't, and how much you don't think you'll survive . . . you do, and you can, and after a while things seem normal again.
posted by Melanie at 10:11 PM
