Meg
Well-known Member
...and this is what I came up with.
*All names have been changed*
Memoir of Epicness
I always hated wearing dresses. Ever since I was little I rejected the idea that
as a girl I should wear pretty dresses. I like pants thank you very much. And not just
pants, but T-shirts too. I had some great outfits when I was little. I remember I liked
striped shirts: still do. In fact, I have about ten now: most from Forever 21. But
most of all I liked hats. I had this hideous yellow, blue, pink, or whatever hat that I
stole from my sister one day, and that was that. I wore it all the time.
My family didn’t approve. More specific, everyone but my mom disproved.
My grandparents especially thought I was weird. I remember there was this one
Christmas I asked for a Barbie doll. The world stopped. Everyone was so excited that
I wanted a doll. Perhaps I would stop being such a boy? Well I got the doll and my
family was super happy at how happy I was when I unwrapped the doll.
It was headfirst in the couch cushions the next day. I just needed someone for
Buzz Lightyear to save that wasn’t the same Power Rangers and Hot Wheels over and
over again. My grandparents were so mad. My mom thought it was hilarious. At the
time I didn’t realize it, but those were the beginnings of me being a feminist.
The whole “I don’t where dresses” thing came to a head in sixth grade. It was
Conformation. For those of you that don’t know much about Catholicism,
Conformation is the Sacrament when you receive the seven gifts of the Holy Spirit
and become an adult in the eyes of the church. Or if you’re a kid, it’s the last thing
you have to do before you never have to go to Sunday school ever again. Hell, it
wasn’t even Sunday school since we had it on a Tuesday, but that’s not the point.
I remember I had to wear an all white dress and everyone was happy about it
but me. I don’t even remember what it looked liked. I’m not even sure it was all
white, but I remember the fun robes we had to wear over the dress that may or may
not have been white were white. So there you go.
Anyway, there was a lot of fuss about getting confirmed. I kept getting yelled
at during rehearsal because I “wasn’t singing.” I tried to explain that I was singing,
just quietly. I didn’t want people’s eardrums to explode. They didn’t go for that and
said that God wants to hear me sing. Honestly, if God wanted to hear me sing he
would have given me a voice worth hearing, but he didn’t. So I took the hint and
sang very quietly. Unfortunately, God’s will wasn’t good enough for anyone, so I sang
louder and the people on either side of me have yet to forgive me.
After the service I was out of there. And by that I mean I ran out of the church
only to get intercepted by my family for pictures. My grandfather is a professional
photographer. Just think about that for a second. I was standing there, sandwiched
in between my mom and dad and everyone else, while my grandpa, known as Gramps,
kept telling us to move to the left or right a little for several minutes. Finally we
wound up in the place we started and he took the pictures. The sun was in our eyes
and I could just feel the rays burning my death pale Irish, Italian, German, Austrian,
Ukrainian, and Cherokee skin. At first everyone was happy to take pictures but me,
but by the end of it everyone was miserable, and I wanted to get out of my dress.
You’d think people would of let my special day be about me and what I wanted, but
it wasn’t.
Well, we got back to the house and I immediately ran up stairs and changed
out of my dress. Everyone but my mom was so upset and tried to make me feel bad
the whole rest of the day. I didn’t care. There was food. My mom laid it all out on the
kitchen table. There were cheese, crackers, and fruit for people to snack on while we
waited for the main attraction: the sandwiches. They weren’t just your everyday
sandwiches you make because you don’t have anything decent to eat for lunch, no.
They were gourmet. The crispy thick bread and the juicy tomatoes sliced ever so
perfectly were only the icing on the cake. The meat was fresh and delicious and the
little toothpicks sticking out of each sandwich made them that much more official.
As usual when both sides of my family get together there is a lot of talking
and yelling over one other. In these situations the best thing to do is just talk to
Papa. He’s a comedian of sorts. He loves to tell jokes and his laugh is infectious. His
face will get bright red and he’ll just lean back and crack up in a way that makes you
join in. My Aunt Pip is the same way. The two of them are a team. Once they start
going at it it doesn’t matter what they are laughing about: you have to join in. My
grandmother, Lulu as we call her, will just sit there while her husband and youngest
daughter laugh hysterically, and will slowly but surely eat way more than she says
she’s going to. “I just want a sliver of cake,” or “I just want to try it” she’ll say, and
next thing you know way more than just a “sliver” or “little bit” is gone. She’s still
one of the most beautiful women I know and I’m not kidding. I don’t even know how
old half the people on my mom’s side of the family are because they all look younger
than they are: my mother included.
My sister, Jane, and I take after my mom and her family in the looks
department. In fact, I know we do. My dad is quite handsome and young looking for
his age too, so Sarah and I are destined to age beautifully. It must be all the olive oil;
we are Italian after all. Or maybe it’s the cannoli? Either way I have a beautiful
family.
After the linner (lunch and dinner as I first called it when I was six) we all
had desert. I think there was cake? Well either way presents came next and that’s
the part everyone loves hearing about anyway because someone waving around all
the stuff they have is so entertaining. I don’t remember much of what I got actually. I
did get money though: lots and lots of money. There was also a lot of way to fancy
wrapping paper everywhere. Maybe not waist high levels like at Christmas (which
in a way isn’t saying much because of how short I am), but there was a lot. We, as in
my mom, were vacuuming up the glitter from the paper for weeks.
Eventually everyone left and I was allowed to admit that I actually felt very
sick the whole time. I did my best to fight through it and be happy, but I did feel
rather awful. I suppose that was one of the seven gifts kicking in. One of them is
courage, and it took quite a bit of courage to fight feeling like I was going to pass out
all day. I never gave myself much credit when it came to maturity. Yes I made some
immature mistakes growing up and even that day, the day I was supposed to
transition into an adult, but I showed bravery too. One thing I always loved about
my family is that it didn’t matter how big of an idiot I was being they always loved
me. I feel very blessed to have all of them in my life and even though I don’t get to
see my family very often anymore they do mean the world to me. I love my mom, for
always being understanding and letting me be me, my sister for all the lessons of
how to be awesome, and my dad for always trying even when I don’t feel like it.
Oh and about the whole dress issue. That was the last time I had to wear a
dress until my high school graduation. It had to be an all white dress. I was so
miserable while shopping for one, but the gift of wisdom kicked in. I wore the dress
with white shorts on underneath.
------
EDIT: So I don't know what the heck is up with this layout, but whatever.
*All names have been changed*
Memoir of Epicness
I always hated wearing dresses. Ever since I was little I rejected the idea that
as a girl I should wear pretty dresses. I like pants thank you very much. And not just
pants, but T-shirts too. I had some great outfits when I was little. I remember I liked
striped shirts: still do. In fact, I have about ten now: most from Forever 21. But
most of all I liked hats. I had this hideous yellow, blue, pink, or whatever hat that I
stole from my sister one day, and that was that. I wore it all the time.
My family didn’t approve. More specific, everyone but my mom disproved.
My grandparents especially thought I was weird. I remember there was this one
Christmas I asked for a Barbie doll. The world stopped. Everyone was so excited that
I wanted a doll. Perhaps I would stop being such a boy? Well I got the doll and my
family was super happy at how happy I was when I unwrapped the doll.
It was headfirst in the couch cushions the next day. I just needed someone for
Buzz Lightyear to save that wasn’t the same Power Rangers and Hot Wheels over and
over again. My grandparents were so mad. My mom thought it was hilarious. At the
time I didn’t realize it, but those were the beginnings of me being a feminist.
The whole “I don’t where dresses” thing came to a head in sixth grade. It was
Conformation. For those of you that don’t know much about Catholicism,
Conformation is the Sacrament when you receive the seven gifts of the Holy Spirit
and become an adult in the eyes of the church. Or if you’re a kid, it’s the last thing
you have to do before you never have to go to Sunday school ever again. Hell, it
wasn’t even Sunday school since we had it on a Tuesday, but that’s not the point.
I remember I had to wear an all white dress and everyone was happy about it
but me. I don’t even remember what it looked liked. I’m not even sure it was all
white, but I remember the fun robes we had to wear over the dress that may or may
not have been white were white. So there you go.
Anyway, there was a lot of fuss about getting confirmed. I kept getting yelled
at during rehearsal because I “wasn’t singing.” I tried to explain that I was singing,
just quietly. I didn’t want people’s eardrums to explode. They didn’t go for that and
said that God wants to hear me sing. Honestly, if God wanted to hear me sing he
would have given me a voice worth hearing, but he didn’t. So I took the hint and
sang very quietly. Unfortunately, God’s will wasn’t good enough for anyone, so I sang
louder and the people on either side of me have yet to forgive me.
After the service I was out of there. And by that I mean I ran out of the church
only to get intercepted by my family for pictures. My grandfather is a professional
photographer. Just think about that for a second. I was standing there, sandwiched
in between my mom and dad and everyone else, while my grandpa, known as Gramps,
kept telling us to move to the left or right a little for several minutes. Finally we
wound up in the place we started and he took the pictures. The sun was in our eyes
and I could just feel the rays burning my death pale Irish, Italian, German, Austrian,
Ukrainian, and Cherokee skin. At first everyone was happy to take pictures but me,
but by the end of it everyone was miserable, and I wanted to get out of my dress.
You’d think people would of let my special day be about me and what I wanted, but
it wasn’t.
Well, we got back to the house and I immediately ran up stairs and changed
out of my dress. Everyone but my mom was so upset and tried to make me feel bad
the whole rest of the day. I didn’t care. There was food. My mom laid it all out on the
kitchen table. There were cheese, crackers, and fruit for people to snack on while we
waited for the main attraction: the sandwiches. They weren’t just your everyday
sandwiches you make because you don’t have anything decent to eat for lunch, no.
They were gourmet. The crispy thick bread and the juicy tomatoes sliced ever so
perfectly were only the icing on the cake. The meat was fresh and delicious and the
little toothpicks sticking out of each sandwich made them that much more official.
As usual when both sides of my family get together there is a lot of talking
and yelling over one other. In these situations the best thing to do is just talk to
Papa. He’s a comedian of sorts. He loves to tell jokes and his laugh is infectious. His
face will get bright red and he’ll just lean back and crack up in a way that makes you
join in. My Aunt Pip is the same way. The two of them are a team. Once they start
going at it it doesn’t matter what they are laughing about: you have to join in. My
grandmother, Lulu as we call her, will just sit there while her husband and youngest
daughter laugh hysterically, and will slowly but surely eat way more than she says
she’s going to. “I just want a sliver of cake,” or “I just want to try it” she’ll say, and
next thing you know way more than just a “sliver” or “little bit” is gone. She’s still
one of the most beautiful women I know and I’m not kidding. I don’t even know how
old half the people on my mom’s side of the family are because they all look younger
than they are: my mother included.
My sister, Jane, and I take after my mom and her family in the looks
department. In fact, I know we do. My dad is quite handsome and young looking for
his age too, so Sarah and I are destined to age beautifully. It must be all the olive oil;
we are Italian after all. Or maybe it’s the cannoli? Either way I have a beautiful
family.
After the linner (lunch and dinner as I first called it when I was six) we all
had desert. I think there was cake? Well either way presents came next and that’s
the part everyone loves hearing about anyway because someone waving around all
the stuff they have is so entertaining. I don’t remember much of what I got actually. I
did get money though: lots and lots of money. There was also a lot of way to fancy
wrapping paper everywhere. Maybe not waist high levels like at Christmas (which
in a way isn’t saying much because of how short I am), but there was a lot. We, as in
my mom, were vacuuming up the glitter from the paper for weeks.
Eventually everyone left and I was allowed to admit that I actually felt very
sick the whole time. I did my best to fight through it and be happy, but I did feel
rather awful. I suppose that was one of the seven gifts kicking in. One of them is
courage, and it took quite a bit of courage to fight feeling like I was going to pass out
all day. I never gave myself much credit when it came to maturity. Yes I made some
immature mistakes growing up and even that day, the day I was supposed to
transition into an adult, but I showed bravery too. One thing I always loved about
my family is that it didn’t matter how big of an idiot I was being they always loved
me. I feel very blessed to have all of them in my life and even though I don’t get to
see my family very often anymore they do mean the world to me. I love my mom, for
always being understanding and letting me be me, my sister for all the lessons of
how to be awesome, and my dad for always trying even when I don’t feel like it.
Oh and about the whole dress issue. That was the last time I had to wear a
dress until my high school graduation. It had to be an all white dress. I was so
miserable while shopping for one, but the gift of wisdom kicked in. I wore the dress
with white shorts on underneath.
------
EDIT: So I don't know what the heck is up with this layout, but whatever.
