Late last summer, I was helping my mom clean out her house before she put it on the market. When I reached her room, specifically her night stand, I hit the jackpot. I found letters that I’d written when I was a kid. I have no clue what compelled her to keep them, but I am glad she did because I now find them hilarious.
Here’s a sample.
I have no clue how old I was when I wrote this letter. I find it funny that I could correctly spell “graduation” and “behavior,” but I misspelled “sampoo.” Regardless, I think I got my point across. This was clearly the work of a future rhetorician, and I was learning how to prey on my mother’s ethos. Or something like that.
This letter also reminded me of my first legit crush. Charlie was a neighbor who lived down the street. He was the oldest of three brothers, and the youngest, Michael, was in my grade at school. Michael was the most beautiful boy I’d ever seen, and I was in love with him for years. They moved away at some point during grade school, but that didn’t stop me from crushing on him. We’d visit with the family at their lake home, so I’d see him off and on. I was delighted when I was a sophomore in high school, and Michael came to one of our varsity basketball games; I wanted all my friends to see the guy I thought was so very cool. I was a band geek, and he was a cheerleader. I thought it was a match made in heaven. But, alas. It was not to be. Michael is now happily married and living with his husband in Seattle.
Just What I Kneeded 