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One perfect childhood in New Paris, Indiana.

Every memory was carefully selected and quality crafted. Highlights include a large backyard with sprinkler amusement, capture the flag contests, star gazing, campouts, football pick-ups and lawn mowing thrills, a full basement for hide and seek, a spacious playroom for Barbie’s Dream House and Star Wars schemes, epic ping pong battles and large yet comfortable tornado cover, a lovely den perfect for Commodore computers or long Atari nights, a driveway with the state’s seemingly mandated Hoosier hoop and double car garage for tapping tennis balls till all hours of the night, beautiful trees that capture TP just right, the smells of fresh cut grass and burning fall leaves, and glorious corner rooms that overlook cornfields and back country roads.

Entertain in grand fashion in a living room graced with a wood-burning fireplace for cold winter nights, toasting marshmallows and warming feet, perfectly ornamented by a delicately hand-decorated Christmas Tree to celebrate the holidays in style. The chef’s kitchen is clad for washing dishes, popping corn, making drinks, cooking comfort food, impromptu dance parties and teaching old dogs new tricks. Sliding glass doors in the living area showcase fields of dreams and soft pillowy snow drifts depending on the season while opening up the home to even more light and the smell of fresh made burgers being brought in from the grill.

One dramatic hall on which little girls draw in carefully chosen crayon leads to sibling rooms for game playing and make believe, including a roomy bath equipped for makeup applying, hair crimping and those Calgon moments that take you away. Though the master bedroom is the ultimate retreat for daddy/daughter sports watching and mother/daughter movie marathons complete with beauty makeovers.

Built in 1977 as a home for five that grew to seven, 18844 CR 142 is perfect for those wanting to experience that quintessential piece of Americana on one of the most picturesque streets in the quaint little town of New Paris. If you want to create the best memories in the best place in the best town, look no further. She could be yours, and she won’t last long. Buy her today!

Sprinkler Amusement

Football Pick-Ups and Camping Out

The Hoosier Hoop

Delicately Decorated

Old Dogs, New Tricks

Calgon Moments

Picturesque Street

Quintessential

Piece

Of Americana

Which brings me to my high school graduation. It wasn’t some momentous life-altering occasion where I waxed nostalgic and feared the future. I welcomed my graduation with open arms because of the need to explore what was beyond the confines of my one cop town, not because I actually hated high school.

See, High School and I were fast friends. We had a wonderful relationship. It treated me pretty well and I didn’t complain too much. No real attachment on either side. It was what every casual relationship should be: hassle-free with as little emotional investment as possible.

Me being in a casual relationship with High School. Little emotional investment.

A hassle-free moment… me teaching line dancing to our High School Spanish teacher (even though I took German)

It also helped that two of my siblings had blazed a trail of success in their wake. And though that set a rather high academic and behavioral bar that I had no intention of hitting,  it also greased my teachers’ expectations enough to allow me infinite hall passes and a bit more lenience when  I inevitably did or said something stupid. (Thanks, Siblings!) I also kind of had an “in” with the Vice Principal thanks to Darewood (you totally know that’s why we became friends, right?).

Oh Darewood!!! Thank God your dad was the VP – the catalyst of our enduring friendship.

But even though we had a pretty great relationship, when it was time for High School and I to part ways, there were no tears to shed or hints of regret eaking in. There was no wallowing in “but these are the best years of my life” moments.  Hell, if the best years of my life were going to be at the ages of 16, 17 or 18, then life has an exceptionally cruel sense of humor.

The bottom line about graduating was that I was ready and elated. It was time to move on and that was exciting to me, not scary and sad. Like I said, I didn’t hate high school. I just used it to my advantage and left it in bed without so much as a phone call the next day. I wasn’t going to miss it like some people (i.e. those still showing up at every home football game in their letter jackets at the age of 23 — you know who you are). And though I thoroughly enjoyed most of the people I went to school with, and firmly believe to this day that I was part of one of the best classes to ever grace the hallowed halls of Fairfield Jr.-Sr. High School, I was totally ready to say good-bye and start the next chapter.

I wanted to love graduation and not be saddened by it. So when it came to prepare for our final bow, I was all in. You only live once. I joined the senior or rather the graduation choir. That’s a big deal for me because I’m tone deaf (which can probably be confirmed by the lucky few who got stuck next to me on the risers at the ceremony). I think the tile in my shower hates me for belting solo renditions of anything Madonna produced in the latter part of the 1980s. But hey, I wanted to partake. I wanted to be a joiner in those last few weeks of school. I tried to have conversations with people that I normally didn’t get to have a conversation with. I thanked my teachers. I put my affairs in order and participated to the best of my ability.

I don’t remember too much about the actual event. I do remember sitting on uncomfortable folding chairs in the middle of the gym floor for a really long time while whoever spouted whatever cliché insights should be spouted to 18 year olds about to attack the big White Whale we call adulthood.

I remember the senior choir getting to sing some Green Day, which was a pretty big feat in 1998 in the rural uber conservative parts of Northern Indiana. Kudos to whichever classmates got approval for that one.

I do remember shaking our principal’s hand for the last time.

So this was totally rehearsed btw.

The most memorable and laughable moment by far was when our entire class was forced to stand and face our friends and families, taking the lyrics of Friends Are Friends Forever that had been carefully placed on our seats, to croon the sickly schmaltzy song whilst holding onto our neighbor like it was a Hands Across America repeat performance.

Yep, singing to the very friends and family who had already sat through a rather painful hour and a half of pomp and circumstance only to be serenaded by eighty-odd off-key teens taking the sentimental diddy to a whole other level of unacceptable. People cried. No, they ugly cried. It’s like our school and Michael W. Smith conspired to move the audience and graduates to feel the feels they had at the end of Schindler’s List all over again. So wrong on so many levels.

However, I didn’t cry. I smiled wider than ever before as I sang each cheesy word knowing this was the last thing the institution was ever going to be able to make me do. I found our nice casual relationship was suddenly bordering on Clingy Ex territory. It just didn’t seem like it was going to let go, and then finally, it did. It was over and people were still ugly crying but they were hugging and wishing each other well.

That was the last day I saw a fair amount of my classmates. Some of them I’d been to school with since Kindergarten, but it was ok. I enjoyed them while they were there, while we shared classes together, hit puberty together, failed miserably at magazine sales together and we were all going to take that next big step onto something greater than high school together.

All 80 something of us in our cap and gown glory. The Fairfield Jr.-Sr. class of 1998

Experiences like graduation shouldn’t make us sad about what’s ending. They should make us thrilled about what’s to come. 17 years later hasn’t changed my view on that whatsoever. Enjoy it while you’ve got it and happily move on when it’s time to go.

So, what was your high school graduation experience like?

Today I found an essay I wrote for Mr. Harvey’s College English class. Oh, how I loved Mr. Harvey! I think any student that appreciated real wit and dry humor loved Mr. Harvey. He could be a true task master, but he was awesome, too. He’s one of the teachers that I actually appreciated while I was in his class.

I completely forgot how much I loved English. It was one of my favorite subjects – even the grammar segments had my heart. Yes, I was the tennis playing art geek in my formative years, but I had other pursuits and hobbies, too, and finding that essay reminded me of them.

I read the composition and laughed at how terribly written it is on so many levels (though I did snag an A which was no easy feat with Harvey’s standards). I mean I used commas as much as Elaine used exclamation points. I laughed because it’s just so funny glimpsing at my 17 year old voice as it emerges from the pages. It’s hilarious because now I have a blog and others actually read what I write regularly. I think Mr. Harvey might be pretty proud of that, though he’d be cringing at my horrendous use of grammar (or lack-there-of) in all of my posts.

It’s a good thing to be reminded of what we enjoyed in our younger years. It brings a freshness to the soul.

So for today’s throw-back, I thought I would share with you my 17 year old self as it desperately struggled to construct a piece of creative writing (I think it was a 2000 word minimum) requested by one of the toughest and best teachers on Earth. I typed it below (took me like two hours to do it) Read at the risk of engaging in poor writing choices.

Here’s to remembering other passions we once held dear and to you, Mr. Harvey – wherever you are …

That’s right. This girl got that grade. Thank you, Mr. Harvey!

(please forgive the length. I wanted to share the unabridged version. commas and all…)

True Freedom

“A-all right already! I-I’ll do it! Just … shut up about it, will ya? Whinnie took a deep breath as she stared at the floor. Why now? Why me? She asked herself.

She looked up and surveyed the crowd, fidgeting with her fingers as she bit her lower lip. She uncontrollably began shaking her head. There’s so many people! Oh my God, I can’t believe I’m going to do this. Suddenly, nausea rising, she found herself being pushed towards the front door. Oh no. I can’t do this. I can’t do this! As she shook her head repeatedly, tiny beads of perspiration began to trickle down her chiseled face.

“Wait a second! I need a flashlight don’t I? I mean, I can’t just do it in the dark!” Whinnie pleaded, trying to put off her embarrassment until the last moment possible. She turned to her best friend, faithfully standing by her side. “Amy, don’t let them do this to me! Please!”

“Don’t let them? Heck, it was my idea!” Amy laughed. “Look, don’t take it personally, you’re the one that asked for a dare,” she reminded her.

Whinnie grabbed Amy’s Calvin Klein T-shirt and pulled her close. She placed her face as close to her disloyal companion’s as she possibly could, and hissed, “ Amy, you have no idea what you’re doing to me! Please get me out of this! I will do anything!”

Amy smiled, “ Hey, it’s all in fun. Who’s going to see you anyway? The only lighting is by a few street lamps, and besides, it’s 3:30 in the morning. Who’ll be up? Live a little, Whin,” she roused.

Whinnie slowly turned to face the mob. All of them were classmates. All of them were about to completely humiliate the shyest, most humble fifteen year old adolescent in all of Preston. Don’t they understand? Have they no decency? What if I get caught? What if somebody drives by? Oh God, what if my parents find out? She closed her dark brown eyes, hoping to wake up any moment and realize that it was all just one gigantic nightmare …

“Streaking isn’t that big of a deal, Whin. Quit being so dramatic. Now hand over your clothes,” Amy demanded.

Whinnie swallowed hard as that foreboding word echoed in her perfect ears. Backing up, she closed her eyes as tightly as she could, trembling while trying to detach herself from the anxious stares of fifteen thrill seeking girls. Finally, she whimpered, “You guys, it’s illegal! That’s indecent exposure. I could go to jail!” Whinnie shot the group the most desperate look she could manage.

“C’mon, Chicken Legs! Fork ‘em over!” Amy laughed. Everyone was watching her. She had to do something. Whinnie quickly gauged the distance from her feet to the door. Maybe five feet? She thought. Just run you stupid idiot! Run …

Suddenly she felt a finely manicured hand clamp down upon her shoulder, sending a chill through her spine. She whirled around and scanned the faces of her schoolmates. One by one, she looked into the eyes of each girl., eagerly waiting for her to bare down and run wildly through the streets of their little suburban neighborhood in the valley. She could easily see each girl’s excitement sparkling throughout her baby blues and hazel greens. Each girl was enjoying Whinnie’s torment like a depraved child given an unexpected Thanksgiving feast.

Amy pointed across the living room to her bedroom door, “You can change in there. Whinnie, you can’t back down. It was a triple dog dare,” she shrugged. “Sorry. Look, I have a robe hanging on the hook behind my door. You can use that till we get to the street, then,” Whinnie felt Amy’s eyes examining her under-developed body, “well, it’s all you, Flat Stuff.”

Whinnie winced at the sound of her familiar nickname once again, as the rest of the girls simply laughed in amusement. She’s my best friend! People don’t do things like this to their best friends! People don’t do this to their enemies! she thought. Be strong, you can do this, she tried to reassure herself unconvincingly.

She slowly made her way to Amy’s bedroom, feeling every girl’s eyes on her all of the way there. As she reached the door and cautiously placed her hand upon the knob, she turned her head to the side. She looked to the ground as she spoke, “Well, I certainly hope you are all satisfied.” With that, she opened the door and slipped her slender body through the crack, quietly closing the door behind her.

Whinnie wandered over to Amy’s daybed and delicately placed herself on the very edge. “I can do this,” she whispered, shaking her head once again. She watched as her hands vibrated back and forth. “Stop talking, Whinnie,” she commanded herself. She lifted her head towards the doorway and made up her mind. “This is stupid. Any one of them would do it. No one will see,” she said as she stood up and began to unbutton her oversized, deep blue flannel. Or will they? she silently asked herself.

She carefully laid the flannel on the bedspread and began to unzip her Guess jeans. As she folded the jeans and set them beside her shirt, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror that was standing propped against the wall on the other side of Amy’s bed. Whinnie found herself making her way to the wiry reflection before her.

She paused about a foot in front of the oak spanned glass and began to examine her gangly frame. 5’8 ½”, and about forty pounds underweight. Why can’t I gain anything? She pulled a loose strand of stringy brown hair behind her ear. She looked as though she hadn’t eaten in days, even though she knew better than that. Her arms and legs were nothing but bone she noticed as she flapped them up and down. She lowered her eyes and frowned. Knobby knees … scrawny legs … she thought. She stood on her tip toes and stretched her arms as high as she could. Oh my God, you can see my ribs! She quickly turned to her side. Oh my God! I am so flat! I have no breasts!

Suddenly Whinnie heard a knock on the door and jumped. Clutching her chest with her right hand, she shrieked, “What!”

Amy’s muffled voice carried through her door, “Tonight, Whinnie! Sometime tonight!”

Fine, if that’s the way they want it. Fine! She hurriedly released what she so demeaningly referred to as her training bra, and tossed her red polka-dotted underwear onto the floor. She raced over to the hook behind the door, threw on Amy’s pure pink bathrobe, and made her way to the evil horde sitting in the living room, merrily waiting her arrival.

Whinnie quickly scanned the room, watching each of the girls giggling with delight. She spotted Wendy Peterson lying on her sleeping bag on the floor. She’d known Wendy since the fifth grade. Together they had taken ballet for the past four years. Traitor, she thought. She looked to the couch where the Terrence Twins were contentedly smiling at her. I wonder if their parents know they smoke? Whinnie repressed a laugh. One by one she recognized each and every one of Amy’s party goers. Some day, she thought, some day … But she stood tall. Her head high, she headed toward the entranceway. I may not have one shred of self-respect left after this, but they will not get the best of me! I don’t care what kind of a push over they think I am. Whinnie Judson is not a coward!

As she made her way toward the door, the atmosphere in the room suddenly began to change, causing her to turn around and face her peers once again. Their expressions were somehow different from just a moment before. There was no longer that sparkle, that twinkle of excitement. Their faces seemed to appear a little uneasy.

Oh my God! They are wondering if I’m going to go through with it! They don’t think Wimpy Whinnie will do it! They don’t think good ‘ole Flat Stuff  can actually handle streaking through a neighborhood! She paused and thought for a moment, finally dropping her head and letting her shoulders slump in defeat. They’re right, I can’t do this. What am I thinking? I read books and mind my own business. I speak when spoken to. I can’t run stark naked into the night like a raving lunatic!

She began to drag herself the rest of the way to the door. Just as she was about to depress the golden latch, Amy spoke, “Whin,” she started, tapping her foot on the hardwood floor,” you know, it’s not the end of the world if you don’t go.” She looked around for a little moral support but received none. “It’s just a stupid game anyway.”

Whinnie began to let her guard slip slowly away. They’re not seriously going to let me pass? They’re not going to let me put my clothes back on and forget about it, are they?

Just as Whinnie started away from the door, smiling, once again able to enjoy the party’s festivities, she watched Amy smirk, turn to the gang and say, “Besides, you couldn’t do it anyway, Whin. You’re way too uptight for something like that.” Whinnie listened as the girls began their incessant giggling once again.

So that’s what they think? I was right, they don’t think I can do it. I’ve had it! No more Miss Priss. Before she could stop herself, Whinnie determined, “ I’m going.”

Suddenly all of the girls’ eyes were on her, and their mouths were hanging open. No longer did they resemble an angry mob ready to throw her straight into the lion’s den. Amy turned, facing her best friend of the past ten years. “Okay. The street is all yours,” she said. To most, it would have sounded like a light hearted attempt at reverse psychology, but Whinnie knew better. It’s a challenge, she thought. Amy Cogswell, Whinnie’s most trusted companion, was testing her. She, of all people, doesn’t believe I have the gall to go through with it. Well, funny.

Whinnie walked to the door, opened it, and turned, “Anyone want to watch?” she smiled as she made her way to the sidewalk outdoors. All of the girls, sitting in outright bewilderment, looked to Amy. From the walkway, Whinnie heard her say, “C’mon. I know her better than anyone here, there’s not a chance she’ll do it.” And Amy led the way, following Whinnie’s footsteps each step of the way.

As they reached the street, Whinnie looked first to her left, then right. The street was empty. The only noise that was even audible was the chirping of a few crickets here and there.

As it was a scene straight from a John Wayne western, Whinnie found herself standing in the middle of the street, staring directly into Amy’s gorgeous blue eyes. “Okay. Where to?”

Amy looked up and down the roadway, then pointed to a driveway in the distance. “From here to the McKenna’s and back. No robe, no bra, nothing,” Amy commanded. If that’s all right with you of course,” Amy folded her arms, waiting for Whinnie’s reply.

Without taking her eyes off of Amy she said, “Fine by me.” Just shut up and think about what you’re doing! You can’t do this! she told herself.

Suddenly, the robe was at her feet and Whinnie was off. She felt the cool breeze brush against her face and across her unveiled body. It caused a tingling sensation all throughout. Whinnie found herself experiencing something she had never quite experienced before. It was a feeling, a feeling of absolute freedom! This is great! she thought as she took a deep breath of the unbelievably fresh air surrounding her. As she passed house by house, she began to laugh out loud. They never thought I could do it! They didn’t think Whinnie Judson, bookwork and introvert, had it in her! I love this!  

She found herself quickly approaching the McKenna’s drive. As she reached the gravel at the foot of the lane, she turned around and began her way back to Amy’s house. She became colder as she ran, the wind had picked up, and the tree lined street didn’t help matters. Everyone should go nude! This is easy! What was I so afraid of? Whinnie felt like nothing could stop her. She had finally proven to everyone that she wasn’t the wimp everybody thought she was. She had finally shown them that, as quiet as she was, she could be as wild as the next guy.

As she neared Amy’s house, she saw that all eyes were on her. She could see the shock, and respect upon everyone’s face. Respect … that’s something I haven’t had in quite a while, Whinnie smiled proudly at herself. When she was about ten feet from the edge of the drive, she slowed down as she watched the girls begin to sprint into the house, leaving Amy’s pink bathrobe behind. Where are they going?

Then, Whinnie had the feeling that, although she was alone on the street, something was behind her. She quickly grabbed the robe from the pavement and turned around. There was a 1997 Preston city squad car parked right behind her. Whinnie’s pulse began to race and she started to panic once again. She looked in every direction possible for some form of support. “Amy? Oh God, Amy, where are you?” She whispered under her breath.

The police officer rolled down his window and called her. “Miss? Miss? I was wondering if I might have a word with you?”

Whinnie knew her brief moment of freedom had come to an end. As she stared at the auto in front of her, she couldn’t help but smile. She didn’t care if she got into trouble, that’s not what mattered. None of the others would have done it, she thought, that’s what matters. And her slight smile turned into uproarious laughter as she turned to the police officer exiting his car.