The Treasure Box

My dad recently moved out of his apartment of nearly 20 years. During the move he found an old box of papers of mine from high school and college. Thankfully, he let me know, and didn't just throw it away. Along with my high school diploma, which I thought was lost forever, the box also had some of my papers and writing from back in the day. There were math papers that I couldn't make heads or tails of now, and diagrams of the brain and neurons, and reports on Shakespeare's Globe Theater and the WWII Auschwitz camp. But by far my favorites to find were the pieces of writing, from what seemed like forever ago. (Seriously, forever. They were written on a typewriter.) Some of these experiences I wrote about so long ago may have some significance for some of you too. Behold, the treasures of the forgotten box:

Airports

I'd loved airports. I'd always loved airports. Being able to just hop on a plane and go anywhere in the world was just a neat thought to me. I loved airports, until that Sunday...

I had been dreading it for weeks. I knew what was coming, but I didn't want to face it. I figured if I didn't think about it, it would just go awake, right? Wrong!

Still, I gathered up all of my courage on that sunday afternoon and decided to go to the airport. My ride came to pick me up and my friends and I were just all happy and cheerful. We all smiled and laughed and joked around like it was just another ride home from school. I joined in, but inside I was silently screaming at myself, "How can you be so happy? Don't you know what's about to happen?!" But I pushed those thoughts out of my head. I was still trying to ignore what was really happening.

When we got to the airport terminal, reality finally set in and and the tears started flowing. I hugged my friend for waht seemed like the last time. And as he turned and walked away, onto a plane and into a new life, I learned what the word goodbye really means: letting go.

I hate it when important things get taken away from you. I hate it when you're hurting and there's no way to make it better. And I hate airports. I may always hate airports.

I think I was a sophmore when I wrote that one. The experience happened while I was in ninth grade. I still don't love airports, but for entirely different reasons now. I'm scared to death to lose my kid in one and I get airsick. Still, I'd usually rather tough out a couple hours on a plane than spend a few days in a car getting carsick. Ugh.

This next one I wrote in my first year of college. It's funny, because I actually had a homework assignment not long ago for a class that I am taking, and it ended up a lot like this. It was funny, at the time, how it seemed to flow. Probably because I had already written quite a bit of it before, ten years ago.

A Memoir

I remember when I was younger. Every night my mom would have my sister and me each go pick out three books each for her to read to us before we went to bed. We had this huge bookshelf in the basement and it was just filled with books. It would take us forever to decide, and it seemed like three books was never enough! We would each have our favorite books that we would pick almost every night like "Goodnight Moon" and "Don't Forget the Oatmeal" with our good friends Ernie and bert, and we would also pick out some new ones each night. By the time we decided, our bare feet would be freezing from the basement concrete, so we would run up the stairs and jump into bed. Then my mom would read each book to us. We would usually fall asleep before she got through all of them.

As I grew older, I began to recognize the words, and I would read silently as my mom would read to us. It would always give me a sense of accomplishment when i would finish the words on a page before my mom did. Reading made me feel happy and smart and confident as a child. This confidence has helped me all through school, even now, and into my future as a reader.

As I continued to grow, so did my love for reading. I remember for abotu three years my favorite store in the mall was Deseret Book! I had every book in the Babysitter's Club series, which was about sixty of them, and I had read and reread them all. I would visit the library pretty much weekly, checking out about ten paperbacks at a time. I couldn't wait to get home and start reading my newfound treasures. I would stay up late into the night, with my little book light on, absolutely enthralled in the stories.

When I started junior high, my love for reading was kind of phased out. It was looked at as very nerdy to always be reading a book, or maybe I was just paranoid that that's what people thought. I remember one time in seventh grade I went to class early to finish a book that I had been reading. I believe it was "The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn." There I was, just reading away, waiting for the bell to ring, and someone walked in. I looked up to see who it was and you know that crowd that everyone wasnts to be a part of in junior high? Well it ws about six girls from that group, needing to talk to the teacher before class started. There I was, book in hand, epitome, of a book dork. Those disapproving and amused looks from those girls were enough to make me want to stop reading for a long time. So I stopped. I excelled in English, and enjoyed and cherished most of the books that were assigned to read, becasue I could actually read them and not be judged.

Throughout high school, reading was pushed down even farther on my priority list. I became very disinterested because I had many teachers who would teach that they was only one meaning to a reading and that the teacher's way of thinking was always the right way. That was until my senior year. I registered for Advanced Placement English, and the teacher was Ms. Heart. It was through her that my love for reading began to blossom again, and it came back even stronger. We would read a book as a class, and then the next class period, we would move our desks into a big circle and for the whole period, we would discuss the book. We could discuss whatever aspects we wanted. Ms. Heart didn't tell us how or what to think; she let us do it on our own. At first I wasn't used to this, because I had had so many teachers teach just the opposite, but after a while it became my favorite part of the whole class. Ms. Heart made us really think and analyze things about books and readings and most importantly, about ourselves. We would discuss how things related to our lives, and how things connected with us on a personal level. I will be eternally grateful to Ms. Heart for showing me my potential in reading, for making it enjoyable again, and for making me think.

For this reason, I am excited for this college course in reading. I am excited to increase my knowledge and wisdom of readng and myself and others. Reading is a wonderful thing, but only if you let it into you, let it into your soul, and let it affect you for the rest of your life.

Finding some of this writing was like finding a part of myself that I had forgotten. It's interesting how much life changes, but also how much it stays the same. I am still close with the friend from the first story. Ms. Heart wrote me a letter of recommendation that helped me get my teaching job that I have now. So many years later, I'm so glad that I captured my feelings about these events and people through writing.