A scene from Sixteen Candles

Pink must be her favorite color. Her rod iron twin bed is un-tucked with pink sheets and two pillowcases stacked on top of each other from her nights rest. The walls are almost the exact same shade of pink as her undergarments as she stands observing her new sixteen-year-old body. Her rosy cheeks, cherry lips and short red hair make the room turn into a horrible nightmare for any boy who walks in. The room is full of panty hose thrown across the bedpost, bras and panties in every direction, and shoes scattered across the floor. Her thin, bony body stands there looking hopeless in the mirror. “Chronologically you are sixteen today, physically you are still fifteen,” she says to herself, shaking her head from left to right. A sigh comes out and she tries to force herself that this fifteen-year-old body magically, overnight became a sixteen-year-old body. “Hopeless,” she shakes her head again and gives up. She picks up the phone and says “Nope. I look exactly the same as I have since summer.” She walks backwards to her bed and sits on top of her pillows with the white phone cord barely reaching her bed. Her shoulders sink to her chest and says “Utterly forgettable.” She pauses waiting to hear her friend’s response on the phone. “No, I didn’t expect to wake up transformed. I just thought turning sixteen would be so major that I would wake up with an improved mental state that shows in my face. All that it shows is that I don’t have a tan left.” She sighs and looks around to the disaster that she has created in her room. It doesn’t even faze her. She then says to her friend, “I better get downstairs. My family is probably pissed off that I haven’t let them wish me Happy Birthday yet.” She gets up and ends the conversation, “Alright see you at school.” The phone slams down and she takes one more look into the mirror. “You need four inches of bod and a great birthday,” she says to herself. A big smile crosses her face.

Week 3: Childhood Memory

The day kids look forward to most: No more training wheels. I was four years old and so ready for my dad to take the two extra wheels off my bike that I didn’t need. I wanted to be like my brothers. I always wanted to do what they did. Difference in age never seemed like a legitimate excuse as to why I couldn’t do the same things as them. After nights of begging my dad to take the wheels off, he finally did. I stood next to him in the garage waiting anxiously as he unscrewed the wheels. It seemed like hours before he was done. Once he finished, I hopped on my bike, forgetting that the extra wheels were no longer attached. BOOM. I scrapped my elbow and hit the ground. But that little scratch wasn’t going to stop me. I tried again. Over and over. Failing. I was beginning to get frustrated so my dad suggested that he help me. I finally was on the seat of my bicycle and ready to go. My dad held on the back of the seat and ran with me as I was peddling. He asked if I was ready for him to let go. Of course I was. He let go. I was swerving all over the place looking like a drunk four year old on a bicycle. I remember my dad yelling “be careful Lindsey, slow down!” Next thing I know I am turning the corner and fall completely over, hitting my head on the curb. I screamed so loudly that everyone on the street came out to see what was wrong. I had rocks stuck in the side of my cheeks and blood running down my face. Fourteen stitches later to my little face, I never wanted to get on a bicycle without training wheels again.

Week Two Pg. 46 #2

I put on the long white robe and started walking down the aisle with no fear inside my soul....

It was in 1999 and the worst way to end the school year.  My stomach felt as if I had been stabbed a thousand times with a dull knife....

Three years had gone by and I thought the world was coming to an end. Eating saltine crackers and running three miles every morning and afternoon was only the beginning....

The birds were flying over head and not a cloud in the sky. I was lounging on the trampoline wondering why.....

Week One Pg 23 #5

Over Christmas break I began to realize how much alike the men are in my family. PawPaw is the oldest of the men (79) and is the skinniest of them all.  He is about 5 foot 9 inches and roughly 160 pounds.  PawPaw starts his morning off with a cup of black coffee and a ten minute walk around the neighborhood.  At the end of his walk he goes to the most organized garage I have ever seen and starts what his wife would say "just another damn project." He stays out there all morning and afternoon creating a masterpiece that he will show off to everyone.  PawPaw then comes in, showers and puts his green slippers and plaid robe on.  He crosses his thin legs and squeezes his hands in between his thighs.  Usually he is watching the news and waiting for dinner to be served.  He usually finishes every meal before anyone else does only because half of his plate goes to their miniature schnauzer. As soon as he is done, he pushes his plate back and crosses his legs and squeezes his hands in between his thighs once again. PawPaw always makes everyone laugh.  He never is angry and always has a some kind of smirk on his face, whether he is guilty or not. As soon as his wife's fork and knife are on top of her plate, he asks "what's for dessert Roberta?" "You know what's for dessert Wilfred." PawPaw and Meme often call each other by the names they hate to be called. "It's in the freezer and go ahead. But only one scoop," Meme tells him. With the biggest smile on his face, he goes over to freezer pulls out the gallon tub of Blue Bell Rocky Road.  PawPaw knows how to get the biggest scoop of ice cream he can.  He use to own a Baskins Robin when his children were in high school. The scoop of ice cream takes up the entire bowl and for me, that would have been three or four scoops. He grins as he walks past Meme and heads for his recliner. As PawPaw is finishing his ice cream, their schnauzer is there waiting to lick the bowl.

Now I look at PawPaws son, Mark, who is my uncle. He is 39 and is so much like his father.  The gesture that stands out to me most is the crossing of the legs with the hands between the thighs. Then I look at my oldest brother Kevin.  He does the exact same. These three generations of men all have the same personality. They are very determined, easy going and thankful for what they have.  They all have loving wives that will put up with anything they do. They can get out of any situation that they are found guilty of just because of their charm. I look forward to see my brother raise his child. Will the same habits continue down the generation?