100-Word Memoir: Snow Days, or Lack Thereof

Since my siblings and I were homeschooled, we almost never got snow days. We had to complete our schoolwork, watching our private-schooled neighbors wrecking our sledding hill into a track of grassy mud, until noon. The anticipation was awful.

Still, when it lasted beyond noon, snow was one of the great highlights of my childhood. We’d spend all afternoon sledding, fighting, and playing various versions of snowball fights, demolition derbies, and “tackle Eric off his sled.” 

I swore that I’d be an old geezer if I ever said I didn’t like snow. 

I guess I’m an old geezer now.

~~~

100-Word Memoir: Why Children of Similar Age are not Instant Friends

Although Katie and I were both 11 and both loved reading, I didn't get her.

“Have you ever read Lord of the Rings?” I asked.

“Yeah. It was really boring.”

I stared at her. That was my favorite book in the universe. Dad had read the whole trilogy aloud every few years since I was four. “What?”

Katie shrugged. “We were just too young when my dad read it to us.”

“Oh.” I could, at least, comprehend a child with a short attention span. “How old were you when he read it?”

“Ten.”

I despaired of us ever becoming friends.

~~~

100-Word Memoir: Honesty vs. the True Meaning of Christmas

Once when I was working my Christmas job, I met an eight-year-old girl and her little brother. We chatted a bit about elves and Santa, then I asked them, “What is your favorite thing about Christmas?” The girl hesitated, then recited words as if reading a prepared speech: “That Jesus Christ was born.” 

“That is a good thing to celebrate!” I told her, then turned to her little brother. “And what is your favorite thing about Christmas?” 

Without hesitation, he yelled, “Presents!”

The girl might have had the correct answer, but the boy was a lot more honest.

~~~

100-Word Memoir: Childhood Expectations, Courtesy of TV, Books, and My Own Sense of Normality

As a kid, I had certain expectations of the world. For instance:

All children, except my siblings and friends, were brats. Still, it was important to be nice to overweight children and kids with glasses, because they were teased constantly and ruthlessly. The same applied to kids from divorced homes, because their lives were terrible.

All normal children attended public school and were Catholic. (Homeschooled Protestants like myself were weird.)

The entire purpose of college was to meet your future spouse. 

Every ordinary child had an invisible friend. (I felt guilty that I didn’t.)

Someday, I was going to die.

~~~

100-Word Memoir: A Four Year Old Wakes Up

That day, I was wandering in figure eights around a sandy lawn in North Carolina. In that yard, between the coiled hose and the crab apple tree, I had a revelation. 

Slowly, I spoke aloud. “Once upon a time, there was a girl who had an evil stepmother…”

In that moment, I realized I was doing something magical— I was telling a story! It was the first time I had ever tried to do that without stuffed animals for assistance. My world blew open.

My grandmother, watching me wander and mumble to myself, asked Dad if I had “special needs.”

~~~

100-Word Memoir: Confusing Moments of Childhood, Part One

One day I was playing with my Barbie dolls when, in the next room, Mom shouted elatedly, “My work is done!” 

I paused, shocked. How could this be? She was much younger than most people who retired! After a few confused seconds, I reasoned that there must be a set amount of work to do in life. If you worked quickly, you’d finish sooner.

The next day, I found Mom editing her book. My hypothesis shattered. I felt melancholy. I had thought that, since Mom was done with work forever, she’d have more time to take us on field trips.

~~~

100-Word Memoir: Nearing Autumn

Laying on my back on a blanket at my brother’s football practice, I looked at some trees across the park and realized I’d remember them forever. 

They stood motionless, hard tree-shaped sponges. The late afternoon light painted them intensely green with crisp shadows.

They looked just like the trees across from Grandma and Grandpa’s house, which I could not forget either. Breathless and stone-like. Solid. They seemed detached from my other senses, like a photograph.

I rolled over onto my stomach and draped a coat over my back. I didn’t like lying exposed under such an open sky.

~~~

100-Word Memoir: Surreptitious

The year after I graduated high school, I returned one day to visit a few friends who still attended my old fine arts school once a week. After sitting in on orchestra and making an appearance at choir, I slipped into the drama class and perched on a chair along the back wall.

One of my friends saw me and yelled my name. “Shh!” I said, putting my finger to my lips in exaggerated sneakiness. “I’m trying to be surreptitious.”

My old drama teacher, halfway across the room, loudly commented, “You can’t be surreptitious when you use words like ‘surreptitious.’”

~~~

100-Word Memoir: Camping Memories

The Great Smoky Mountains National Park was a highlight of our yearly vacation. We’d set up our six-person tent, toast marshmallows, tell stories, fight a tide of rainwater in our tent during the night, launder our sleeping bags in Gatlinburg, and go hiking. 

We always camped by a creek. I loved to watch the water striders on the pools along the bank. Their shadows had spots on the tips of the legs where they dented the surface tension.

After three days we were all grimy, sweaty, and bug-bitten. I always felt that this made me one with nature.

~~~

100-Word Memoir: Stars, Planets, and Fish

One night when I was little, Mary and I were lying awake when Dad walked in, carrying a flashlight. He said, “Your glow stars aren’t bright enough.”

He held the flashlight against the glow-stars and planets on the ceiling. He lit up the glow paint on my poster of deep-sea fish. The three of us cuddled together, watching the whitish-green patterns shine in the darkness. Whenever they started to fade, Dad relit them.

The effect was magical. We sat for a long time, wrapped in darkness with the stars and the planets and the fish all aglow.

~~~

100-Word Memoir: War in Europe

WAR IN EUROPE!

Trembling, I stared at the newspaper. War? Now? In Europe? I thought of Great Uncle Norman, who died in WWII. Poppi served in the navy during Korea. If Vietnam had continued one more month, Dad would have been drafted.

Almost in tears, I ran to find Mom. “Mom, there’s a war going on!”

She looked at me with sad but resigned eyes. “Lisa, there’s a war going on somewhere in the world every day.”

Stunned, I silently turned away. I crept into my bedroom and played with blocks— conscious for the first time of losing childish innocence.

~~~

100-Word Memoir: Chelsea

When Chelsea joined our homeschool group, she was, as usual, the only other girl in the group. “Be friendly,” Mom said. 

When Chelsea and I talked, she said I was sheltered because I didn’t watch violent movies or go to sleepovers at other kids’ houses. As one eight-year-old to another, she said I needed to be independent.

I played it cool, giving her nonchalant glances (like Jimmy Stewart in Destry Rides Again) as I explained that I didn’t feel the need to assert my independence from my parents (I might have even used that phrasing).

Later, I bawled.

~~~

100-Word Memoir: The Barbie Tornado

My sister Mary’s Barbies were having a good day, picnicking on a stack of my Jacques Cousteau books. Then I decided I wanted to read those books— all of them. I stole the stack, disrupting the game, and began reading.

Mary was silent for a few seconds. Then she smashed her fist through her Barbie picnic and yelled, “There’s a tornado! Everybody dies! And it’s all Lisa’s fault!” She leaped up, dashed into the closet and slammed the door. I placidly continued reading. 

After a few minutes, I heard, “Lisa?”

“Yes?”

“Sorry for yelling.”

“It’s okay.”

“Lisa?” 

“Yes?”

“I’m stuck.” 

~~~

100-Word Memoir: ABC

When Mary was two and I was four, I taught her the alphabet. Mom set up a chalkboard in the kitchen, and I wrote the letters with soft yellow chalk, using the skills I had learned from watching Sesame Street and eavesdropping on my brothers’ homeschool lessons.

The only letters that gave me trouble were the lowercase “m” and “n.” I couldn’t remember how many bumps followed the short vertical line. Mom drew those for me. 

I couldn’t actually read at that point, but I knew the alphabet was the first step— and I wasn’t going to leave Mary behind.

~~~

100-Word Memoir: Grandma Ada's Death

In the bluish light of a late afternoon, Dad sat on the couch, staring out the window at the blue jays on the bird feeder. I bounded into the room and scrambled up beside him. I noticed his face was turned away and his shoulders were shaking. I didn’t know what he was laughing at, but I giggled loudly to join in the fun.

Mom gently touched my shoulder. “Lisie, Daddy isn’t laughing. He’s crying.”

My laugh vanished. Embarrassed and confused, I crumpled into the couch. At that age, the difference between laughing and crying was almost impossible to decipher.

~~~

100-Word Memoir: Complex Literary Devices in "Clifford, the Big Red Dog"

(Note: I don't know for sure how old I was when this took place, but I’m guessing six.)

One day, I was using my newly-acquired reading skills to tackle a story about Emily Elizabeth and her giant dog Clifford visiting a fire station. Emily Elizabeth pointed out that Clifford was red, just like the fire trucks!

This exploded my mind.

Did the author consider that parallel when he started writing the series, or did he just think it up as he wrote? How was either of those options possible? The intellectual capacity of the author staggered me. I wondered, could I ever write a story with that much depth?

In my brain, a door had been opened.

~~~

100-Word Memoir: At First Sight

The instant I saw him, I liked him. 

It’s funny that I can’t remember where we were on Cornerstone Festival’s expansive grounds, or if we made eye contact, or if we exchanges words besides our names. I was struck by his ridiculously curly long hair, nervous downward glance, band t-shirt, and slight slump as if he didn’t want to seem too tall. 

Ooh, a shy one, I thought. I’m going to be his friend! I was shy during my early teen years, so I had a heart for coaxing timid people out of their shells.

I had no idea.

~~~

100-Word Memoir: The Terror of Public Speaking

In public speaking, you don’t get to memorize a script. As a kid, that petrified me.

One day, Mom gave me an hour to prepare an oral report about the Vikings. I spent the hour hiding in the closet so she wouldn’t hear my sobbing. When I stood up in front of her and my siblings, a cold sick feeling seized me. I broke into hysterics.

Five years later, I took the stage for a 200-person crowd and, in a relaxed tone, gave an unrehearsed speech to introduce a play. 

The transformation boils down to two words: drama class. 

~~~

100-Word Memoir: Homeschooled

(A note from The Mandolin: I haven’t blogged the past couple days because Zachary and I took our first overnight backpacking trip! More on that tomorrow.)

~~~

I started homeschooling when I was three, sitting next to my oldest brother and copying the letters he wrote. When I turned four, I began teaching my two-year old sister how to read and write.

We grew up in a time when homeschooling was rarer. Mom wouldn’t let us out of her sight during school hours. Friends and family worried. Strangers and acquaintances grilled me about math. Most people assumed I was either a genius or an idiot.

I graduated with an ACT that would’ve snagged me an excellent scholarship for college. But I had other plans in mind.

~~~

100-Word Memoir: The Tire Swing

It was the only “just because” gift I ever asked for: “Daddy, can I have a tire swing?” 

He said, “Sure.” I was stunned, because I thought he’d say no.

We drove to Wal-Mart and picked out a plastic tire. He hung it from the maple in our side yard. Every week I spent hours in motion, breathing in honeysuckle breezes, swinging up to kick the tree’s outermost twigs, singing nursery rhymes and DC Talk beneath a mosaic of silver-green and blue.

I never asked for another gift. In my mind, I had everything I could ever want.

~~~