Unsent Letter
After not eating refined sugar for a over month, yesterday I made and ate about a dozen peanut butter chocolate chip cookies. It a glorious binge day. Naturally, my body, racked with sugar, was unable to bed down at the usual time so at 3 a.m. I found myself going through my bins of old letters and keepsakes.
I have a terrible habit of writing letters but not sending them. Even when I do send them, things often go awry. When I was 13, I wrote a letter to my friend Laura in Connecticut. I can't even remember who Laura was but am happy that I still have her letter (I wrote the wrong address) as a little piece of history. I had just moved from Connecticut to Texas and wrote my CT friends regularly with updates on my new southern status. Here's a blurb from my letter to Laura.
It's amazing how many emotions I can remember reading all this old stuff. Like my dread for this certain vice principle. Or the agony over upcoming exams. Things I never think about anymore but the second I see my handwriting agonizing over it all, I get that sick feeling in my stomach all over again. Yet, sicko that I am, I love saving this stuff. There's nothing quite like an undying fear of the junior high vice principle to humble a 27 year old mom.
I have a terrible habit of writing letters but not sending them. Even when I do send them, things often go awry. When I was 13, I wrote a letter to my friend Laura in Connecticut. I can't even remember who Laura was but am happy that I still have her letter (I wrote the wrong address) as a little piece of history. I had just moved from Connecticut to Texas and wrote my CT friends regularly with updates on my new southern status. Here's a blurb from my letter to Laura.
The vice principle is a really big jerk. His name is Mr. S-- . He has a fake eyebrow and is really fat and pudgy. He gave me a lecture because I was pulling on a door when it was locked. When he was through huffing and puffing he asked me if I understood. "Yeah" I replied then he got all dark and silent and asked again. Again I said the same thing. Except this time a little louder. I thought he might be going deaf or something since he is so old. Then all the kids watching started whispering "Yes Sir! Yes Sir!" By then it was too late and now I am on his death list.
Today during lunch he came up behind me and put his hands on my shoulders. Then he started lecturing the girl next to me that her hair-doo was not suitable for school. All the time his hands were pressing into my shoulders like anvils. When he started to walk off I shook my shoulders. Little did I know he was watching me. Yikes! Lunch was a disaster. For my next two classes I felt like doggie-poo. I haven't even seen the principal yet. It's like he's the pope or something. You hear about him but never see him. I think he's just scared of the kids.
It's amazing how many emotions I can remember reading all this old stuff. Like my dread for this certain vice principle. Or the agony over upcoming exams. Things I never think about anymore but the second I see my handwriting agonizing over it all, I get that sick feeling in my stomach all over again. Yet, sicko that I am, I love saving this stuff. There's nothing quite like an undying fear of the junior high vice principle to humble a 27 year old mom.
Comments
He passed away a few years ago, and now the field is named after him at the middle school. I hope though that the detentions given are still called "Stinsons"
I have a 7th grade year book with my Social Studies teacher's hand written send off:"To S'mee, the best 'SEXY'-tary I will ever have. I will be thinking about you all summer. See you next year! Mr. ____" --yeah, it was creepy even back then, but no one said a thing.
by the by, he's a town hero as well.