I want to learn all I can, live as wisely as I can, and savor every moment on the journey.
I’m enjoying writing my memoir so much that I decided to share a couple of fun little scenes from the first chapter (with extra paragraph breaks for blog-friendly reading). I hope you like them!
From Chapter 1: Kindergarten Disillusionment
…And then, there it was—my classroom. I rushed inside. There were the desks—one was mine!—and the huge chalkboard and the walls covered in bright educational posters. It was Heaven, a florescently lit paradise!
I waved goodbye to my mom and started scurrying around checking the desk’s name tags until I found it—my own school desk. I couldn’t believe my luck—it was right beside the teacher’s!
After sitting down and examining the desk and its contents gleefully, I began watching the teacher as she greeted the other students. She was cooing to a little boy who was, strangely, crying and clinging to his mother’s hand, as if he didn’t want to go to school. “That’s weird,” I thought idly. I turned my attention back to the teacher.
Then my eyes grew big when I saw, as she turned her face in my direction, that she had a mustache. Was she a woman, then, or a man? Her hair was long, and her chest seemed full, but she did have a rather deep voice…and that mustache…
The question puzzled me deeply over the next few months. I dared not ask anyone about it. I knew enough, after five years of constant question-asking, to know that it would be a very rude thing to ask.
Eventually my mind relegated the question to the area of imagination-fueled mysteries that just did not have answers. This was quite a large area of my mind that contained questions I pondered while lying awake at night—questions such as,
Could I learn to fly? and
Were my parents actually not my parents at all, but secret agents hired to assassinate me in my sleep?
and, most troubling, What if God needed to visit earth again and he made me pregnant, like Mary, and no one would believe me when I told them that it was God’s baby?
I began to take more interest in my classmates as the year went on and school itself lost the intense novelty of those first months. But this led in turn to my first heartbreak.
One day I asked Matt, my friend from the advanced reading group, who he thought was the prettiest girl in the class. He answered honestly. “Alexandra.”
“Oh, okay,” I said casually, looking back down at my crayons to hide my disappointment.
That was when I learned I wasn’t the kind of girl that boys thought were the prettiest. But I was, I knew, the kind of girl whom everyone said was smart, nice, and good. And really, that was fine with me.