Life & Death
In 1987, one of my best friends was killed in a skiing accident. When everyone who had never liked him suddenly claimed to be his best friends, I told people I barely knew him, in hopes they'd figure out I actually missed him. It was wrong, but I was right.
I won a seat in the student council. I became "popular." The next year I lost it. I stopped being "popular." I decided there was more to life than this.
I traded all my shorts in for Jams, and my T-shirts for Vuarnet and Ocean Pacific ones.
I fell in love with a girl. I never told her. She never told me either.
Pop Goes the World became my favorite song, and my philosophy of life. I still don't know what the words mean.
I went to junior high dances and watched girls from across the room.
I got chicken pox, and missed a week of school. I think I watched more rental movies that week than I ever had in my life.
I took the S.A.T. as part of a gifted student program. I didn't know what my scores meant, exactly. I had friends 5 years later who scored lower. It wasn't something I knew how to talk about.
Ferris Bueller was my hero.
My friends and I would go to Chili's, order nothing but free-refill cokes, and stay there until they closed.
My voice changed. My friends' voices didn't. I wasn't sure whether to be proud or embarrassed.
I had my first piano recital. I asked the teacher if I could perform a piece I wrote. He agreed. In five recitals, I never performed a piece that wasn't mine.
I won a seat in the student council. I became "popular." The next year I lost it. I stopped being "popular." I decided there was more to life than this.
I traded all my shorts in for Jams, and my T-shirts for Vuarnet and Ocean Pacific ones.
I fell in love with a girl. I never told her. She never told me either.
Pop Goes the World became my favorite song, and my philosophy of life. I still don't know what the words mean.
I went to junior high dances and watched girls from across the room.
I got chicken pox, and missed a week of school. I think I watched more rental movies that week than I ever had in my life.
I took the S.A.T. as part of a gifted student program. I didn't know what my scores meant, exactly. I had friends 5 years later who scored lower. It wasn't something I knew how to talk about.
Ferris Bueller was my hero.
My friends and I would go to Chili's, order nothing but free-refill cokes, and stay there until they closed.
My voice changed. My friends' voices didn't. I wasn't sure whether to be proud or embarrassed.
I had my first piano recital. I asked the teacher if I could perform a piece I wrote. He agreed. In five recitals, I never performed a piece that wasn't mine.