Spring Fling circa 1970: I am the determined, smiling one next to our rocket.
Finally: something built for me and with me and by me from
my idea!
I want to be an astronaut. I want to go into outer space. I don’t want to be like Penny in Lost in Space, I want to be like Apollo 11 on the moon. Not the guy who just flew around it, but like the guys who actually walked on the moon.
I want to do that.
For now, this Spring Fling float with Sharon and Alice would be the best thing for me. For now.
I was sure we would win, like when I was little and forced into that Winken, Blinken and Nod contraption with Joey and Susie. That wasn’t my idea, I looked cute, and it was more like Mommy winning first place.
I’m looking forward to Summer because then I won’t have to bear with the teachers I had this year: the highlight was writing my state report but other than that, Miss Pizarro is the worst ever. Will my handwriting ever be pretty? Will I ever have teachers who like me again?
At least I have this. THIS exact moment. I can see the parade’s ending at Linden Avenue School, my school.
That is where we will be awarded the grand prize which I will proudly hang in my room. Not Jeff, Not Jim, Not Sue… none of them were brave enough to do this, like me. Afterwards, I will throw a ping pong ball and win at least one fish. Maybe I’ll win two or three goldfish!
I will ride a pony. I will hear people saying, “Good job, Julie!” I will take my blue ribbon when I go to sleep, hold it tightly in my hand all night long and dream of other victories I will have in my life.
Finally, I will be the special one.
Finally.
Today the prompt from my friends at Scintilla 13 went like this:
Post a photo of yourself from before age 10. Write about what you remember of the day in the photo. It may not be a full story–maybe just flashes of event and emotion–but tap into the child you were as much as you can.
What you just read is my response. THANK YOU for visiting. If I happened to get the year wrong and my brother Jeff passes by he will surely correct me on the year. Sometimes, in some eyes, I am perpetually eight-years-old.
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