Feeling nostalgic, I grabbed my memory box- an old cardboard box- from decades ago, it’s full of many items. There were things from my grade school in Cleveland and bits and pieces from the school district I attended after we moved from the city to the country. This upcoming year will be forty years since I graduated from high school, so I focused on the school memorabilia.
I was a child that disliked change. (I still do, as the photo of the tattered box illustrates.) And the move from Cleveland was full of changes. I missed my friends, and I wanted to go home.
Home to Cleveland.
My life after the move was dark and sad. But I found a bright spot.It was Mrs. Perrin and the class she taught at the junior high. It was something I looked forward to every weekday. She introduced me to poetry, and Edgar Allan Poe, and how to write short stories.
One of her writing exercises that I enjoyed was to create a story from a photo. That exercise fueled my writer’s imagination. I fell in love with short stories.
Imagine my sweet surprise when I grabbed a haphazardly folded piece of paper from the box. I unfolded the paper and saw my maiden name at the top of the page. I started reading. It was the last page of a story I wrote for Mrs. Perrin’s class. I wrote stories for extra credit. If memory serves, it was the only class I didn’t need the extra credit, but the unneeded stories were my lifeline. Thank You Mrs. Perrin!
I wish I had the entire story. But, re-reading the last page of the story, it is clear to my adult self that I wanted to fit in with my new classmates. I wanted their acceptance.
I’m forever grateful for those who reached out and befriended me.