How To Write An Essay
If blogging as taught me anything it’s this. IF YOUR LIFE ISN’T INTERESTING ENOUGH, MAKE SOMETHING UP. So here does.Essay Topic:
Many childhood experiences have lifelong impressions on people. In the Space provided, write an essay in which you describe a childhood experience and the effect it had on your life.
And my mind goes blank. Has my life really got so little to do with my past? Who knows, but I have thirty minutes to write an essay, or no one is ever going to let me teach anyone anything ever again. So I take choice B. I invent the story. They’re really only interested in the style and form etc. not what it is I’m saying, so who cares if it’s not true? It’s still an essay. So I begin.
My romantic life has followed a familiar pattern since I discovered boys . It started when I was in Kindergarten and by now I know it well. It begins with a deep infatuation followed by my declaration of love and ends with his scorn. How is a girl supposed to react? I learned early and I learned well.
When I was five, the cutest boy in class was named Ted. He sat in the desk next to mine and never, ever talked to me. But I was in love, and not one to notice such trivial matters. I decided to tell him how I felt, and Valentines Day was coming up. Perfect.
Class preparations had been in the works for some weeks. We decorated the room, and we spent two whole craft periods making Valentines Day mailboxes out of construction paper and cereal boxes. Mrs. Richards sent home a note telling parents to please remember to send baked goods to school with us on February 14, for the class party. And of course, there were valentines to make.
Of course, my Valentine for Ted was the center of my attention. It took up a whole sheet of paper, compared to the quarter sheet that all my other class mates got. It was red with pink hearts everywhere and even little white doilies for that extra special touch. The message was important, and I chose my words carefully from my extensive five year old vocabulary. "To Ted: I love you. Ples be my Valinten?" I dropped some candy hearts in the envelope because the deepest sign of affection ever found between two people is the sharing of candy hearts. It’s a proven fact. Finally, I slipped my card into his mailbox and waited.
On February 14, my mom made cupcakes, one for each student, and she even put their names on them in pink frosting. I was so proud.
After lunch, we got to open our Valentines. I was so excited. Where was Ted’s what had he written? Did he like me? Would he give me candy? I tore through all my cards looking for those two words, "From: Ted." They weren’t there. He had forgotten to give me a Valentine.
Jerk.
Obviously, I was upset. But as we are judged by our reactions to tense situations, I carefully plotted my answer to this dastardly affront. I turned to him.
"Hi," I said. I looked at his desk. He had not opened my card yet. He didn’t even care that it was four times bigger than any of the other cards.
Jerk.
"Hi," he replied.
"Are you going to eat that?" I pointed to the cupcake that said, "Ted" on it.
"Yeah."
"Well, you don’t want to do that. My dog licked it before I got on the bus this morning. I couldn’t stop him. It was only yours that he wanted, I don’t know why." I picked it up off the desk. "Anyway, I’d better get rid of it for you. I’ll flush it down the toilet." And I walked out of the room without even asking permission. Mrs. Richards didn’t notice.
I had intended to flush it down the toilet. But this was a cupcake. My mother had gone through a lot of trouble to make it, and it was really good. So I did the only sensible thing. I ate it, and went back inside. Boys, yuck.
This pattern has followed me around all my adult life. But I like to think that I’ve learned my lessons. First of all, boys are just boys, so don’t go trying to make them superboys. Second, It’s better just not to tell him if you aren’t sure how he feels. Third, they’re going to think you’re psychotic anyway, so evil plots of revenge cannot lower their opinion of you and they will leave you feeling satisfied and broken hearted instead of broken hearted. It’s worth it.
Is it a good essay? Well, I wrote it, didn’t I? So that’s not saying much. But it was good times anyway, and I always get such a kick out of making things up when I’m not supposed to… sort of.
posted by Sarah Eliza @ 4:56 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home