“What Stupid Kids?”
Why are these adults having us write about stupid moments we had or are having? What point are they trying to show the future generations of America? That we are at a clumsy, unintelligent age? I think that this assignment should have been writing about a moment in one’s childhood, when you realized that you were growing more mature and less awkward. Had the assignment been changed to this, I would have written about a time at Kanakuk, a Christian athletic camp, in which I realized what it truly meant to be Christian. When this happens, you go to the main office to ring a large bell that tolls across the entire camp, sending the message to everyone that a new Christian has accepted Jesus Christ as his/her savior. At first I thought it was just going to be fun to ring the bell, but as my week at the camp bore on, I realized that it was more than just ringing the bell, because the bell itself was insignificant. It was what the bell symbolized that was important. When I rang the bell, for the true meaning, not just to ring it, I felt that I matured that instant and became more of a man because of it. That was in 7th grade, and I still feel that way.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
CONTEST ENTRY #6
Stupid Kids
There was once a boy in suburban Kansas who absolutely loved snow days. He craved the activities he would engage in on these particular days. He would usually do the typical things most other 6th graders would at that time. He would have snowball fights, or just throw snowballs at random people walking on the streets, or he would make snow angels. He would also make a snowman with his friends with the available chunks of snow he could form into a round ball. He would also participate in neighborhood Football games, where he was fortunate to not get frostbite, for he never dressed warm enough for the occasion. He always came home from these games completely red and shivering. This boy, named Andrew, was just your average 6th grader in a suburban area, who was as normal as can be. Until one incident changed his reputation.
There was a large hill just a couple blocks away from Andrew’s house. It sat next to a Lowe’s Home Improvement Store, and coined the phrase “Lowe’s Hill”. He and his friends would always meet up and climb up the hill, and go sledding down it. Usually, they would do tricks like spinning, or jumping off in the middle of the descent. On this day, Andrew made up his mind that he wanted to race his friends down the hill. As it turned out, the results of this decision were painful. Andrew was winning by a wide margin when he looked to his side, and the next thing he knew, boom, he hit an electrical box, serving as an obstacle to this prestigious event, on impact, and he felt the pain instantly. “Ouch, my leg!”, shouted Andrew in disbelief. And the area around him was suddenly a bloody red and then reality hit him. He had broken his nose and it wasn’t going to stop bleeding anytime soon. He was too embarrassed to do anything at the time, but he needed medical attention soon.
One of his friends was able to call his mother and she picked him up to go to the hospital. The doctor diagnosed him with a fractured leg and obviously a broken nose. He was to miss 2 days of school in recovery, that way he didn’t look like a reincarnation of Frankenstein in front of all his friends. Andrew was excited about this. He got to sit at home and play videogames for 2 whole days and have his mom pamper him with food and anything he wanted. He felt a sense of embarrassment, but he was truly thankful for the opportunity to miss school, outweighing the consequences and shame in breaking his nose. Now, he had a story to tell. Something that most 12-year olds don’t get to do too often, and he was now in the infamous club of stupid kids, at least for the time being.
There was once a boy in suburban Kansas who absolutely loved snow days. He craved the activities he would engage in on these particular days. He would usually do the typical things most other 6th graders would at that time. He would have snowball fights, or just throw snowballs at random people walking on the streets, or he would make snow angels. He would also make a snowman with his friends with the available chunks of snow he could form into a round ball. He would also participate in neighborhood Football games, where he was fortunate to not get frostbite, for he never dressed warm enough for the occasion. He always came home from these games completely red and shivering. This boy, named Andrew, was just your average 6th grader in a suburban area, who was as normal as can be. Until one incident changed his reputation.
There was a large hill just a couple blocks away from Andrew’s house. It sat next to a Lowe’s Home Improvement Store, and coined the phrase “Lowe’s Hill”. He and his friends would always meet up and climb up the hill, and go sledding down it. Usually, they would do tricks like spinning, or jumping off in the middle of the descent. On this day, Andrew made up his mind that he wanted to race his friends down the hill. As it turned out, the results of this decision were painful. Andrew was winning by a wide margin when he looked to his side, and the next thing he knew, boom, he hit an electrical box, serving as an obstacle to this prestigious event, on impact, and he felt the pain instantly. “Ouch, my leg!”, shouted Andrew in disbelief. And the area around him was suddenly a bloody red and then reality hit him. He had broken his nose and it wasn’t going to stop bleeding anytime soon. He was too embarrassed to do anything at the time, but he needed medical attention soon.
One of his friends was able to call his mother and she picked him up to go to the hospital. The doctor diagnosed him with a fractured leg and obviously a broken nose. He was to miss 2 days of school in recovery, that way he didn’t look like a reincarnation of Frankenstein in front of all his friends. Andrew was excited about this. He got to sit at home and play videogames for 2 whole days and have his mom pamper him with food and anything he wanted. He felt a sense of embarrassment, but he was truly thankful for the opportunity to miss school, outweighing the consequences and shame in breaking his nose. Now, he had a story to tell. Something that most 12-year olds don’t get to do too often, and he was now in the infamous club of stupid kids, at least for the time being.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
CONTEST ENTRY #5
“Project”
It was supposed to be a normal night out. But no, Belle (a girl with a boy’s name-don’t ask) had to invite her knew “project.” Her name is Marianne and, trusts me, it wasn’t my idea. Belle is forever adopting “projects.” I know because I was a project; however with me things didn’t turn out as planned. I have this thing about doing whatever the hell I want whenever the hell I want. It drives my mother crazy, but hey, I’m 16. I know what I’m doing. I’ll agree with you that most teenagers are just a bunch of stupid kids, but I assure you I’m not like them. Really. You see, the life of your basic teenager revolves around getting cool clothes, looking hot, getting a hot boyfriend/girlfriend and being popular. Not my life. I’m not saying I don’t care about those things, I just don’t think they’re that important. My thing is about seeing the world, seeing stuff I’ve never seen and doing stuff I’ve never seen. And I will…soon. You see, I’m going away for college. I’m going to be on my own and continue my trend of doing whatever the hell I want whenever the hell I want, but without the parental intrusion. But I digress.
So the three of us go out, and of course everything that could go wrong goes wrong. First of all, the temperature that night is like 40 degrees. It’s Miami, Florida! Miami! And of course, we’re by the water so it’s windy and it feels colder than it actually is. And did I mention we’re in MIAMI! Anyway, we were supposed to meet Belle’s new boyfriend, who of course didn’t show. Not to mention Cujo (my friend, a guy) showed up late and then only stayed for a short time (bummer). So now I’m stuck with Marianne (Belle was busy trying to find her guy). Marianne, who is the complete opposite of me. We have nothing in common and nothing to talk about. Ok, maybe not nothing to talk about. We actually discussed some books. It turns out we both like to read mysteries, so I guess we have one thing in common. So, it really wasn’t that bad…but it wasn’t great.
After hours of waiting, Belle finally gives up (thank God) and we head out to get something to eat. OK, so now we’re on the highway, Belle’s mom is driving. We’re about to get off the highway at an exit we have used since as long as I can remember. We’ve never had a problem on this exit ramp. Of course, that was before Marianne. WE ALMOST DIED! Belle’s mom somehow took the turn to fast or something. Whatever it was, we almost crashed into the cement barrier. It was crazy. I saw my whole life flash before my eyes…it wasn’t very interesting (bummer).
We FINALLY make it to the restaurant (you’d be surprised how ravenous waiting out in the cold and then almost dying can make you). We’re in the restaurant, having our food, minding our own business. But remember, Marianne is with us, so it’s just a matter of time. Just as we finish ordering our desserts, we hear a thunderous CRASH. Some idiot threw a rock at the glass wall of the restaurant. The glass wall only a few feet from where I was sitting! I almost died…again!! (Ok, I wasn’t that close, but you never know.) I’m telling you, I’m never hanging with Marianne again!
I can’t believe I’m graduating. I’m really excited about leaving home and going away to college (I told you I’d do it). It’s not all perfect. I’m really going to miss Belle, and of course Marianne. What? Yeah, yeah…I know, I know. But let me explain. I’m not saying the girl isn’t jinxed (I can’t recall a time we went out and something didn’t go wrong). And I wasn’t wrong about us being complete opposites, because we totally are. But I was wrong about the other stuff. It turns out we have a lot in common despite how different we are. Not to mention she’s wicked smart and kind of funny (sometimes). And she’s a good balance for Belle and I (Belle can get pretty emotional and I tend to be overly dramatic at times (if you knew my dad, you’d see where I get it). Anyway, it turns out we’re a good combination. Our teachers have taken to calling us the Three Graces. We’ve become inseparable. Actually, lately I’ve been spending more time with Marianne than Belle. Belle has yet another boyfriend and she’s been spending a lot of time with him. Marianne and I have taken to sharing books and music (she’s been on this weird 1950s and 1960s kick). Anyway, it’s gonna suck not hanging with them but I’m sure they’ll visit and I’ll see them when I come home on holidays. So, it’s all good. And who knows, maybe now I’ll take on some “projects” of my own. (God help us all!)
It was supposed to be a normal night out. But no, Belle (a girl with a boy’s name-don’t ask) had to invite her knew “project.” Her name is Marianne and, trusts me, it wasn’t my idea. Belle is forever adopting “projects.” I know because I was a project; however with me things didn’t turn out as planned. I have this thing about doing whatever the hell I want whenever the hell I want. It drives my mother crazy, but hey, I’m 16. I know what I’m doing. I’ll agree with you that most teenagers are just a bunch of stupid kids, but I assure you I’m not like them. Really. You see, the life of your basic teenager revolves around getting cool clothes, looking hot, getting a hot boyfriend/girlfriend and being popular. Not my life. I’m not saying I don’t care about those things, I just don’t think they’re that important. My thing is about seeing the world, seeing stuff I’ve never seen and doing stuff I’ve never seen. And I will…soon. You see, I’m going away for college. I’m going to be on my own and continue my trend of doing whatever the hell I want whenever the hell I want, but without the parental intrusion. But I digress.
So the three of us go out, and of course everything that could go wrong goes wrong. First of all, the temperature that night is like 40 degrees. It’s Miami, Florida! Miami! And of course, we’re by the water so it’s windy and it feels colder than it actually is. And did I mention we’re in MIAMI! Anyway, we were supposed to meet Belle’s new boyfriend, who of course didn’t show. Not to mention Cujo (my friend, a guy) showed up late and then only stayed for a short time (bummer). So now I’m stuck with Marianne (Belle was busy trying to find her guy). Marianne, who is the complete opposite of me. We have nothing in common and nothing to talk about. Ok, maybe not nothing to talk about. We actually discussed some books. It turns out we both like to read mysteries, so I guess we have one thing in common. So, it really wasn’t that bad…but it wasn’t great.
After hours of waiting, Belle finally gives up (thank God) and we head out to get something to eat. OK, so now we’re on the highway, Belle’s mom is driving. We’re about to get off the highway at an exit we have used since as long as I can remember. We’ve never had a problem on this exit ramp. Of course, that was before Marianne. WE ALMOST DIED! Belle’s mom somehow took the turn to fast or something. Whatever it was, we almost crashed into the cement barrier. It was crazy. I saw my whole life flash before my eyes…it wasn’t very interesting (bummer).
We FINALLY make it to the restaurant (you’d be surprised how ravenous waiting out in the cold and then almost dying can make you). We’re in the restaurant, having our food, minding our own business. But remember, Marianne is with us, so it’s just a matter of time. Just as we finish ordering our desserts, we hear a thunderous CRASH. Some idiot threw a rock at the glass wall of the restaurant. The glass wall only a few feet from where I was sitting! I almost died…again!! (Ok, I wasn’t that close, but you never know.) I’m telling you, I’m never hanging with Marianne again!
I can’t believe I’m graduating. I’m really excited about leaving home and going away to college (I told you I’d do it). It’s not all perfect. I’m really going to miss Belle, and of course Marianne. What? Yeah, yeah…I know, I know. But let me explain. I’m not saying the girl isn’t jinxed (I can’t recall a time we went out and something didn’t go wrong). And I wasn’t wrong about us being complete opposites, because we totally are. But I was wrong about the other stuff. It turns out we have a lot in common despite how different we are. Not to mention she’s wicked smart and kind of funny (sometimes). And she’s a good balance for Belle and I (Belle can get pretty emotional and I tend to be overly dramatic at times (if you knew my dad, you’d see where I get it). Anyway, it turns out we’re a good combination. Our teachers have taken to calling us the Three Graces. We’ve become inseparable. Actually, lately I’ve been spending more time with Marianne than Belle. Belle has yet another boyfriend and she’s been spending a lot of time with him. Marianne and I have taken to sharing books and music (she’s been on this weird 1950s and 1960s kick). Anyway, it’s gonna suck not hanging with them but I’m sure they’ll visit and I’ll see them when I come home on holidays. So, it’s all good. And who knows, maybe now I’ll take on some “projects” of my own. (God help us all!)
CONTEST ENTRY #4
I cannot say that teenagers are stupid kids.
Because they are in truth omnipotent beings
Capable of ruling the world, if only the evil
Adults would roll over and die. This is the
Tragedy of the world. Too bad it will never
Happen. Maybe we should all stage an enormous
Military coup of the entirety of the adult world.
Destroy them all and create a utopian society
Of booze and drugs and sex.
Because they are in truth omnipotent beings
Capable of ruling the world, if only the evil
Adults would roll over and die. This is the
Tragedy of the world. Too bad it will never
Happen. Maybe we should all stage an enormous
Military coup of the entirety of the adult world.
Destroy them all and create a utopian society
Of booze and drugs and sex.
CONTEST ENTRY #3
“She”
She’ll tell him today.
He’ll be happy…surprised, but happy.
Maybe not that surprised.
He must have sensed it, he has to know.
Yeah, they’ve always been friends.
But things have changed.
She’s changed.
They’re in high school after all.
It’ll be great.
He arrives, cap on backwards, jeans slung low.
Woefully underdressed for a quincenera.
She’s in a dress, a rarity.
Her makeup is perfect, her hair stylish.
It’s not her, but it’s what he wants.
It’s what they all want.
Her parents, her friends, boys, men, this is how they want her.
This is what she has to be.
She opens her mouth to speak.
He stops her by blurting out the unexpected.
He wants her…she knew it!
He continues…to help him get with Jacqueline.
Jacqueline, her best friend.
She stares at him, wind knocked out of her.
She recovers quickly with a smile.
The same smile she used when he told her about Lisa.
The same smile she used when he told her about Tanya.
The same smile she used for all the others.
The “others.”
Jacqueline is like the “others.”
Beautiful, feminine, sassy, graceful, popular.
Everything she is not.
Everything everyone wants her to be.
Everything she will never be.
She’ll never be an “other.”
She pushes away the pain.
Like she always does.
She keeps herself from crying by making a joke.
Like she always does.
She agrees to help him.
Like she always does.
She continues to pretend.
Like she always does.
OK, this time will be different.
It’s been a year since Jacqueline.
He’s totally over her.
She’ll tell him tonight.
It’ll be great.
She doesn’t understand.
How did it all go so wrong?
One moment she was about to tell him.
The next he was on a date with Anne.
Her other best friend.
Anne is just like the “others.”
She’s not like the “others.”
She will never be like the “others.”
She hates the “others.”
She’s graduated!
She’s leaving, getting away from him.
Getting away from the “others.”
Getting away from the stupid kids.
Stupid kids with their cars and their nice clothes.
Stupid kids with their nice straight hair and cool tans.
Stupid kids with their perfect bodies and beautiful smiles.
Stupid kids who don’t have to pay their way through college.
Stupid kids with their “others.”
She’s going where she won’t have to put up with the “others.”
Where she won’t be compared to the “others.”
Where she won’t be told she has to be an “other” to be wanted.
She’s going where he won’t be.
Where he can’t reach her.
Where what could have been with him won’t haunt her.
She won’t have to hear about anymore of his “others.”
She’s going where she won’t have to pretend anymore.
Where she is good enough as she is.
She’ll tell him today.
He’ll be happy…surprised, but happy.
Maybe not that surprised.
He must have sensed it, he has to know.
Yeah, they’ve always been friends.
But things have changed.
She’s changed.
They’re in high school after all.
It’ll be great.
He arrives, cap on backwards, jeans slung low.
Woefully underdressed for a quincenera.
She’s in a dress, a rarity.
Her makeup is perfect, her hair stylish.
It’s not her, but it’s what he wants.
It’s what they all want.
Her parents, her friends, boys, men, this is how they want her.
This is what she has to be.
She opens her mouth to speak.
He stops her by blurting out the unexpected.
He wants her…she knew it!
He continues…to help him get with Jacqueline.
Jacqueline, her best friend.
She stares at him, wind knocked out of her.
She recovers quickly with a smile.
The same smile she used when he told her about Lisa.
The same smile she used when he told her about Tanya.
The same smile she used for all the others.
The “others.”
Jacqueline is like the “others.”
Beautiful, feminine, sassy, graceful, popular.
Everything she is not.
Everything everyone wants her to be.
Everything she will never be.
She’ll never be an “other.”
She pushes away the pain.
Like she always does.
She keeps herself from crying by making a joke.
Like she always does.
She agrees to help him.
Like she always does.
She continues to pretend.
Like she always does.
OK, this time will be different.
It’s been a year since Jacqueline.
He’s totally over her.
She’ll tell him tonight.
It’ll be great.
She doesn’t understand.
How did it all go so wrong?
One moment she was about to tell him.
The next he was on a date with Anne.
Her other best friend.
Anne is just like the “others.”
She’s not like the “others.”
She will never be like the “others.”
She hates the “others.”
She’s graduated!
She’s leaving, getting away from him.
Getting away from the “others.”
Getting away from the stupid kids.
Stupid kids with their cars and their nice clothes.
Stupid kids with their nice straight hair and cool tans.
Stupid kids with their perfect bodies and beautiful smiles.
Stupid kids who don’t have to pay their way through college.
Stupid kids with their “others.”
She’s going where she won’t have to put up with the “others.”
Where she won’t be compared to the “others.”
Where she won’t be told she has to be an “other” to be wanted.
She’s going where he won’t be.
Where he can’t reach her.
Where what could have been with him won’t haunt her.
She won’t have to hear about anymore of his “others.”
She’s going where she won’t have to pretend anymore.
Where she is good enough as she is.
CONTEST ENTRY #2
Stupid Kids
Every high school has those kids that are constantly getting into accidents and getting hurt. I, unfortunately, am one of the many. Being into sports can always have consequences in the long run. Swimming and taekwondo is an interesting combination of sports to choose from, but that’s just who I am. No basket ball, soccer, or the most ridiculous, cheerleading for me. I prefer to stick with sports that can help a person gain self-confidence.
In the past year, I have put myself on crutches at lest three times, and have been forced to where knee and ankle braces constantly. Just recently, I have had surgery on my hip for tearing something; I can’t quite remember the name. Stuck on crutches for about a month, getting around school is not the greatest thing in the world. Sure, you get to ride in the elevator, but then there are the ramps in our school that lead to the second floor.
Making my way down the ramps, I try to go slowly. My eyes dart from side to side to make sure I don’t slip on food droppings or spilled drinks. I start to move faster and faster as the ramp’s incline increases. I hit level ground at last and lean against the wall. My friend walks up and grabs my crutches. “Can I play with them?” She asks. I told her it was ok as long as she didn’t break her neck while doing it.
Hopping and spinning around in the hall she pretends she is a fabulous acrobat. At first she seems to be doing really well, but everything has to come to an end at some point. One of the crutches lands in a pile of spilled mashed potatoes, and down she goes to the floor. Unfortunately, someone had spilled their entire lunch on the ground behind her, and she landed in it. She got up slowly and carefully, while I watched. I was just trying to fight back the laughter. She turned around, only to find food covering her rear end. Her clothes were disgusting, her hair was a tangled mess, but she was alright. My crutches were too, if you were wondering. As our eyes met we broke out in laughter. I told her to be careful, but do any high school students do? Walking to the nurse was the best part. Kids stared as we walked by. Some whispered and others snickered. I don’t think it was the sight of the food covered girl that did it either. I think it was my friend’s strange humor. After she fell, she grabbed a piece of paper and pasted it on back. “I’m a dirty dancer.” It read in big bold lettering. That was great, I thought. Such a stupid situation had occurred, and she had to make even funnier. That’s just another high school clown for you though.
Every high school has those kids that are constantly getting into accidents and getting hurt. I, unfortunately, am one of the many. Being into sports can always have consequences in the long run. Swimming and taekwondo is an interesting combination of sports to choose from, but that’s just who I am. No basket ball, soccer, or the most ridiculous, cheerleading for me. I prefer to stick with sports that can help a person gain self-confidence.
In the past year, I have put myself on crutches at lest three times, and have been forced to where knee and ankle braces constantly. Just recently, I have had surgery on my hip for tearing something; I can’t quite remember the name. Stuck on crutches for about a month, getting around school is not the greatest thing in the world. Sure, you get to ride in the elevator, but then there are the ramps in our school that lead to the second floor.
Making my way down the ramps, I try to go slowly. My eyes dart from side to side to make sure I don’t slip on food droppings or spilled drinks. I start to move faster and faster as the ramp’s incline increases. I hit level ground at last and lean against the wall. My friend walks up and grabs my crutches. “Can I play with them?” She asks. I told her it was ok as long as she didn’t break her neck while doing it.
Hopping and spinning around in the hall she pretends she is a fabulous acrobat. At first she seems to be doing really well, but everything has to come to an end at some point. One of the crutches lands in a pile of spilled mashed potatoes, and down she goes to the floor. Unfortunately, someone had spilled their entire lunch on the ground behind her, and she landed in it. She got up slowly and carefully, while I watched. I was just trying to fight back the laughter. She turned around, only to find food covering her rear end. Her clothes were disgusting, her hair was a tangled mess, but she was alright. My crutches were too, if you were wondering. As our eyes met we broke out in laughter. I told her to be careful, but do any high school students do? Walking to the nurse was the best part. Kids stared as we walked by. Some whispered and others snickered. I don’t think it was the sight of the food covered girl that did it either. I think it was my friend’s strange humor. After she fell, she grabbed a piece of paper and pasted it on back. “I’m a dirty dancer.” It read in big bold lettering. That was great, I thought. Such a stupid situation had occurred, and she had to make even funnier. That’s just another high school clown for you though.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
CONTEST ENTRY #1
I was a stupid kid with a mouth of sparkly braces and a cello sometimes slung over my shoulder. I did not hang out at Burger King after school because I had to change into my tights and get to ballet on the city bus. I did not do terribly stupid things or abuse substances. I did not know about substances except that the President's wife thought I should "just say no." I did not go to parties--I went to church lock ins. I wore cable knit sweaters with broaches after the fashions of Miss Molly Ringwald. I liked a boy who wore combat boots and drew anarchy signs on his jacket. He referred to his parents as "fascists" and seemed to know a lot about the Iran -Contra scandal. He listened to really, loud, angry music. I told everyone that I was now really into the Sex Pistols but I secretly loved Wham and Duran Duran. My dad told me to do the dishes and I called him a fascist and he laughed.
In those days, you could walk out onto the front lawn of school and see dudes just spinning on their heads and backs. Breakdancing was so cool. I longed to grand jete into a perfect backspin like my other idol, Jennifer Beals. I pictured myself in one of those teen movies where the young ballerina tosses her point shoes in favor of spontaneous street dancing. I would be a success. And somehow that success would be witnessed by everyone at my scary, urban high school. Even the boy of my dreams, the anarchist, he would see it and be, like, wow.
But my dancing aptitude gravitated towards graceful arms and pointed toes. I loved turning--but on my back?
So one time, my sister and I were hanging out in her room. We had 2 or 3 friends over. Church friends? Relatives? I don't remember. We were talking about breakdancing and how cool it was and everyone was trying out different moves. Someone did the worm--awesome! Someone else stood on the side of thier neck and pitched their body high into the air. Someone did a back spin. And then my little sister gets down and crouches into this frog position--arms wrapped around her legs--she starts hopping! How does she do it? I am furious with her for showing off like that. What am I supposed to do now? Some double pirouettes and an arabesque ala second? Do I dare enter this dance battle with my nerdy, ballet class moves?
No. I decide that I will do the same move. "Oh, come on! " says my sister.
"Please be careful!" everyone advises me, as if I will break a hip.
"I can do it" I tell them
"I don't know. Maybe it's not a good idea..." they say as I crouch into position, arms around legs, staring at the yellow shag carpet on my sister's bedroom floor.
"I'm gonna do it!" I tell them, and a hush goes over the crowd. Someone turns up the volume on the casio and I go for it.
And then.....
just as soon as I hop forward, I tumble, straight down, mouth to the carpet. Yellow shag stuck in the braces. Everyone laughs. " We told you!" they shout. They were right. I can't get up. My intricate orthodontics are attached to the floor and I am still twisted into the frog shape, unable to move.
One by one, sister and friends help me up. They are kind for a second and then they see my mouth with its mess of teeth, metal, and yarn. They can't contain themselves. I can't really blame them.
Ultimately I go back to being the best kind of stupid kid I know how to be: a ballet and orchestra nerd. I do not attempt breakdancing again. I work on my extensions in ballet class.
I do not pretend to like Sid Vicious more than Simon LeBon. Although I like him a little.
I do not go to parties and hope that someone's older brother will purchase beer for us. No, I go to see Flashdance in the broad light of day with my mother, who I must persuade to take me to an R rated movie in the first place.
I do not go to rock shows. I go to church camp.
One year later, I still like that safety-pinned anarchist. He thinks I am a dork but he cannot help but notice my beautiful, straight teeth.
In those days, you could walk out onto the front lawn of school and see dudes just spinning on their heads and backs. Breakdancing was so cool. I longed to grand jete into a perfect backspin like my other idol, Jennifer Beals. I pictured myself in one of those teen movies where the young ballerina tosses her point shoes in favor of spontaneous street dancing. I would be a success. And somehow that success would be witnessed by everyone at my scary, urban high school. Even the boy of my dreams, the anarchist, he would see it and be, like, wow.
But my dancing aptitude gravitated towards graceful arms and pointed toes. I loved turning--but on my back?
So one time, my sister and I were hanging out in her room. We had 2 or 3 friends over. Church friends? Relatives? I don't remember. We were talking about breakdancing and how cool it was and everyone was trying out different moves. Someone did the worm--awesome! Someone else stood on the side of thier neck and pitched their body high into the air. Someone did a back spin. And then my little sister gets down and crouches into this frog position--arms wrapped around her legs--she starts hopping! How does she do it? I am furious with her for showing off like that. What am I supposed to do now? Some double pirouettes and an arabesque ala second? Do I dare enter this dance battle with my nerdy, ballet class moves?
No. I decide that I will do the same move. "Oh, come on! " says my sister.
"Please be careful!" everyone advises me, as if I will break a hip.
"I can do it" I tell them
"I don't know. Maybe it's not a good idea..." they say as I crouch into position, arms around legs, staring at the yellow shag carpet on my sister's bedroom floor.
"I'm gonna do it!" I tell them, and a hush goes over the crowd. Someone turns up the volume on the casio and I go for it.
And then.....
just as soon as I hop forward, I tumble, straight down, mouth to the carpet. Yellow shag stuck in the braces. Everyone laughs. " We told you!" they shout. They were right. I can't get up. My intricate orthodontics are attached to the floor and I am still twisted into the frog shape, unable to move.
One by one, sister and friends help me up. They are kind for a second and then they see my mouth with its mess of teeth, metal, and yarn. They can't contain themselves. I can't really blame them.
Ultimately I go back to being the best kind of stupid kid I know how to be: a ballet and orchestra nerd. I do not attempt breakdancing again. I work on my extensions in ballet class.
I do not pretend to like Sid Vicious more than Simon LeBon. Although I like him a little.
I do not go to parties and hope that someone's older brother will purchase beer for us. No, I go to see Flashdance in the broad light of day with my mother, who I must persuade to take me to an R rated movie in the first place.
I do not go to rock shows. I go to church camp.
One year later, I still like that safety-pinned anarchist. He thinks I am a dork but he cannot help but notice my beautiful, straight teeth.
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