Nostalgia

Nostalgia

My sister's Bat Mitzvah is tomorrow, and her birthday is on Sunday. My baby sister is turning 13. This is so strange - it seems like last week I was 13, flat-ironing the life out of my hair and talking in code with my friends. And it's so weird to think about how I was at that age, just three years ago: I thought I was smarter and more mature than anyone else and I just felt older. You know how you think you're old enough to do anything until you get older and realize how young you really were before? Sometimes I think about how young 16 even is.

So as an 8th grader, my sister's taking a lot of the same classes I did that year, and has most of the same teachers. One of her first assignments in her English class is to write a poem mimicking the style of George Ella Lyon's poem "Where I'm From." (I actually just googled the title because I didn't know the author and found out it's a pretty common assignment for teachers.) I did the same thing as an 8th grader, and my sister's mentioning it inspired me to dig mine out again.

Here it is, for your amusement, and my own:

I am from frozen food,
from Mom’s perfume tucked away in a drawer.
I am from the wind chimes in the backyard,
clinging, clanging in the breeze.
I am from the eucalyptus trees,
< >the tall, skinny monsters that drop diseased leaves;
< >a blanket on the ground that makes me sneeze.

I am from junk food and dieters,
< >from instant messengers and iPods.
I am from the over-achievers
< >and the barely-get-bys.
From eat your veggies
< >and eat your fruit.
I’m from holiday stories of exile,
< >cruel leaders and a few dreamers
and heroes that bring celebrations of Chanukah and Passover,
< >and freedom in the end.

I’m from a strong link in the family chain,
< >one of matza balls and latkes.
From the useless things I learn from my father
< >and the life lessons that might actually do me some good.
Thirteen years have come and (almost) past,
but the memories are strong;
the good times, and the bad,
the headaches and the bouts of laughter with best friends,
the same with there were fights.
It’s these treasured memories and the future to come
that keep me going every day
and which I’m from.

Looking back on it now, I realize that I basically counted the syllables in each line of Lyon's poem and made mine fit that mold. But I was pretty darn proud of it back in the day.

Anyhow, the rest of the assignment was to turn it in anonymously with your baby picture and have the rest of the class guess who wrote it. I always take stuff like that so seriously, like it's my only chance to tell my new classmates exactly who I am and what I'm about, so I have to cram in as much as possible but leave out anything boring. And when I think back on 8th grade, that's how I remember feeling basically the entire year - unsure and uncomfortable and awkward.

I'm glad to be moving past that weird stage, but on the other hand I miss that age. I don't want to sound like your old grumpy grandpa - back in my day we walked uphill in the snow to get to school every morning - but I think things were easier then. It's amazing how much changes in only three years.

- N