• 66°

Life altering experiences

High school experiences aren't all bad, but then again they aren't all good either. I remember my high school days in bits and pieces. I remember being the shy, overweight kid with glasses who always tried to sit near the back to write notes.

I was never one of those smart kids that made all As. In fact, I don't even recall making As and Bs.

My school days were spent goofing off with my close friends at break and having different crushes.

I don't doubt that the memories I have are genuine, but I do doubt the accuracy of which I recall things. I guess that's why they call it selective memory.

I recall all the things that were tragic to me, such as losing friends and losing my mom and dad. All of these things have made me who I am today.

I recall the day when my dad died. I was almost 7 years old. I came home from school expecting him to be on the back porch steps waiting for me. My mom told me that he had gone to get some bees out of a tree for someone in town. I had no other thought than the fact that my dad would be home soon. Then we got the call. My mom hurried me into the car and we drove really fast to the hospital. That was the first time we had ever worn our seat belts in the car. I remember the rounded room where we were told to wait and how mom cried when the doctor told her there was nothing more they could do and that my dad was gone. That's very hard to hear when you don't understand what death means.

I remember looking over into the casket on my tiptoes and thinking that he just looked asleep, like when he was snoozing in his chair on Saturday afternoons.

It doesn't get any easier when you're 15 years old. My mom had been complaining of pain in her right arm, but after a visit to the emergency room, they sent her straight home with medication. A few days later she returned to the emergency room with the same pain, and later that night she died from congestive heart failure. The pain was a heart attack waiting to happen, but the emergency room doctor sent her home.

I wonder if people are just that stupid sometimes.

My high school existence was spent trying to do what I could to finish and go on to college. I wanted to make my parents proud.

I eventually got contacts and let my hair grow out from its boyish look. I was finally starting to look like a young lady that my dad would've been proud of.

I've done many things to accomplish the goals I've set before myself. I graduated from LBW with an Associate of Arts degree under my belt. I still lack my internship in order to graduate from Troy State with my print journalism degree, but I know that I will achieve that soon. Even without that degree, I'm getting to do what I love to do.

I've always had a flare for writing, so that is why I chose journalism, particularly print. I love poetry, but I can never seem to write a poem that isn't sad. Over time I found that my creative mind was tuned to details good enough for short stories.

I want to be known for something great. I want to be someone that has touched people and in the end made my parents proud.

In essence, your life can be like a novel. It can change and develop and have many details. Our lives are supposed to be just that, detailed books that we can place within the lives of others.