Ooohhh... I have a follower.
That is super-de-duper fun!
(It helps that I actually know my follower, and I think she is the best blog follower in the whole wide world.)
I decided to blog about another topic today because I just can't get enough of blogging, reminiscing, narscisissm (if only I could learn to spell it, seriously) and... I just found out that my exam marks likely won't be available until the 31st so I have time on my hands. Lots of time on my hands.
The new topic is a fun one: Describe the town where you grew up.
The town where I grew up
was totally full of wankers
and crankers
and probably yankers.
The town where I grew up was made up of trees
and streets
and houses
and a park
that supposedly contained the aforementioned yankers
(although I think our parents simply called them "perverts")
who apparently liked to
expose themselves
to little children
who were wandering in the park
without adequate adult supervision.
Just behind the playground there was a tiny stream where
sometimes
if we were lucky
we could catch tadpoles.
They were funny looking things.
Slimy.
Greenish. But just as much grayish.
My school was round. (And no, I don't care if
you remember it differently. This one's mine.)
The classrooms surrounded the library. The library might have, at one time, had green carpet. I remember the library
as green.
The library was my place of solace.
I loved reading books. The librarian, Mrs. W., was very
kind to me.
Outside was the playground and the tree.
The tree was wonderful for climbing. It was
a
huge
sprawling old tree.
They cut our tree in half to close the fence it had been blocking.
That is one of those events
that very clearly marked
the end of my innocence
in my memories.
We used to sit in the tree
and talk about boys.
The town where I grew up was very closed
in terms of who was in and who was out.
I was pretty much always out.
Although, once, when I went back to my high school
I found out that some nice person
had clipped all of my stories
from the local paper where I'd been interning for the summer
and posted them on the office windows
as an example of an alumnus who'd become
someone.
It didn't quite make up for never being one of the cool kids
but it was nice.
My house was almost in the corner of a crescent. We planted a whole bunch of trees. It was a lot like living in a well-manicured forest. I really loved the yard. Dad and I would prune trees. Mum and I would plant flowers. It was pretty fantastic.
The house is where we lived when
my parents divorced.
On the day of my prom
I came home from the hair dresser
all done up and pretty.
Dad was visiting
to work in the yard
to make it look good
for selling the house that summer
and Mum told me to sit beside him so
she could get a picture.
Dad protested that he wasn't dressed nicely enough
and why'd she have to go and do that and and and...
I'm not even sure if he's smiling in the photo. I'd have to go downstairs and check. I hung it in my laundry room, a 4x6 tucked into the frame of another picture.
I'm glad Dad wasn't all dressed up because now I know that those memories I have of working in the yard with him aren't fiction. His gardening clothing existed.
It is one of my favourite pictures.
I hated that night. We had to listen to bad commentary
from our equivalent of the prom king and queen.
We were at a dinner
with a whole bunch of people who supposedly were in the graduating class
who we'd never seen before.
They actually made us parade around the room before sitting down
for dinner
in our finery.
For reals.
Afterward, my friends and I fought about who was going to pay for the limo
and another girl was all pissy because it wasn't white
I think my parents ended up footing the bill
when I'd have been happy to go home with them in the back seat
of Dad's convertible
with the top down to tousle
my expensive hairdo.
At the party we fought again, and my boyfriend
yelled at his dog
terrified me
In the morning everyone played video games.
I'm not a gamer.
Really not.
I was totally bored, exhausted from having slept on the edge of the bed with
one eye open
in case said boyfriend decided to make me
the target of his rage
and grateful to just go home
and have it over with.
That maybe doesn't give you a good idea of the town where I grew up.
There was a mall or maybe 2. A library. An ice rink.
There was a giant park that wove its way through the whole town.
Midway through my growth it became a city.
It was made of mostly suburbs. These days the highway corridor is
full
of businesses
but back then...
not so much.
All my friends
just about
went to church. I didn't.
Just before high school I discovered
through a friend
that my town
considered it appropriate
to call brown people
Squaw.
And other names.
I learned that being a lesbian
or bisexual
was something I had to keep secret
even though I didn't know
and was only trying to make up my mind
because the boys were such
incredible jerkfaces.
Mostly.
I thought maybe other girls
wouldn't be
so abusive or controlling.
With the exception of a few friends I made, and some good times
with my parents and family
I mostly hated the town where I grew up.
There was very little there for me
And I was glad that the house sold
and that moving day was the day after
my last high school final exam.
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