Frank’s surgery led me to spend the weekend at my parent’s house. Per usual, I stayed in my old bedroom where I still have piles and piles of papers, books and pictures of which I haven’t decided their fate. It’s because I’m a pack rat packing away chronicles of my childhood. For example, I still have my fifth grade science notebook because I thought at some point I just knew I would forget very elementary concepts about science and would need a quick reference. This was before the internet, obviously. And yet, I still haven’t thrown anything away. I mean, what will happen if I forget the intricacies of a “tundra” and all its vast and vapid wonder? I’m going to need to refer to the brilliant note-taking-skills of the Fifth-Grade-Bridge.
Fast forward to 20 years later and I stumble across these archives of basic knowledge deep in the back of my old bedroom’s closet. They may not be a source of knowledge anymore what with google and all (my online source for everything) but they are a source for this; hilarity.
Sir Opti was really proud to know he married someone who - even in first grade - had the same interests as him.
(I mean the computer part, not the “Skip, Scold, Skas” part. Sir Opti hates skip-scold-skas and skatboards, for that matter.)
I mentioned before how I was raised as a Catholic. I went to Catholic school for six years. We had church every week. We had religion class every day. As a family we went to church every Sunday – I’m sorry – dragged to church every Sunday. (No really- dragged. There were several times where I played dead on the kitchen floor in my Sunday dress with the short ruffled white socks and strapped patent leather shoes. Ada had a perfect ponytail in my hair with no bumps and the most evenly cut bangs you could imagine. I was like a little porcelain doll… from hell. My ponytail, originally intended for aesthetic purposes, ended up being used as Frank and Ada’s tool to get me into the car. And guess what? We were always late to church.)
I have a point though, really. My upbringing in the Catholic church was reflected in my stories from first grade of which I found in the closest of my childhood bedroom last weekend. I couldn’t make this stuff up, even if I tried.
