If you want to keep writin', writin' along...

or

The proudest tradition of exposition.

JAKE- My new online class has me writing again,and i think that is a good thing. Oh my and what a treat for all of you out in blog world. You see, the class is entitled Writing A Personal History, and it is all about creative nonfiction and writing your own memoir. So, Chelsea has demanded in her sweet way that I post some writings for your pleasure. Friends be prepared. Family be prepared. You are all now characters in a more-or-less true story about my life. If you think my portrayal of you is inaccurate, if you think i describe you as some sort of caricature the likes of which causes you to cringe, if you think that there is no way you said those things, well you may be right. Memory is tricky. Hey, don't take it personally. Here is an excerpt I wrote for one of my first assignments in class. I think it is mostly true.

The Oasis

Having a day without a purpose may have been my greatest inspiration when I was young. Scurrying down the stairs with their brown shag carpeting I caught myself wondering if it was possible that the banister could actually be older than the house itself. But thoughts like these leave the mind of a half naked eight year old almost as soon as they enter. My purpose was indeed a grand one this sunny summer morning. Mom tried to stop my as I stormed the kitchen, but to no avail. I think she mentioned something about breakfast or lunch… never mind. The sliding glass door that led to the back yard always seemed so heavy. My little arms would have to give a full heave-ho to budge that monstrosity, but with motivation like mine, no obstacle was too great. I stepped onto the concrete patio with my bare feet. Oh feel that heat. It shot up through my legs and all over my small frame.

The back yard was well groomed. It had a border of grass with a tree placed every few yards. A swing set and a sandbox to the east, not today. An open patch to the left for any number of ball-related activities, nope not that either. And there in the middle of it all, the pool. Yes, don’t mind if I do. Surrounded by a concrete walkway and a thin strip of brown tile, it stood there like a sentinel. Summer was no match for this childhood best friend. The crystal blue water shimmered. Into the shallow end with a cannonball splash. Directly across the street was a field of green grass that formed the center of our cul-de-sac. Neighborhood baseball and football games were the norm, while my brother sat on the roof picking the participants off with his air rifle. But alas, no b.b. riddled baseball game could pull me away today. Right now I was all wet and hoping to stay that way for some time. I think lonely is a state of mind. Right now I was by myself and loving it. However, no contented part of existence remains so for very long. Eventually we are all invaded.

Sure enough here came my brother and his friend. They were intimidating high school kids with only enough patience for a young person to annoy me for a while and then be finished with my presence. They jumped in the pool and made a few snide remarks. Maybe it was something about the way I looked in my swimsuit. Needless to say it was not uplifting. They offered a game of marco polo. I don’t remember accepting, but I do remember being “it” and being thrust into the middle of a game I couldn’t win. My fear of the deep end of the pool was something of family lore, and I could well assume this was the reason for their entertainment. I hip hopped along the rough pool floor arms outstretched, eyes tightly shut. Following the call of “polo”, “polo” I tried to find one of these teen aged miscreants and get this thing over with. Higher and higher on my tippy toes and I knew I was approaching certain death, the deep end. Were they trying to drown me? Perhaps they wanted me dead so they could take my carcass into the high school and hide it somewhere as their senior prank. Finally, I could go no further and opened my eyes. They were out of the pool, a clear violation of the rules of the game, and when they saw me look they ran away, laughing. Each of them swung open the wood gate that led to the front yard and ran through. Suddenly I was alone again. The big brown fence that encircled the back yard separated me from the rest of the world and I was alone. I wondered if that was the way you had to act when you grow up. Maybe you sign a contact guaranteeing that you will be a complete moron at least 70% of the time. As the sun beat down on my face and my body bobbed up and down in the pool, I thought I might choose never to grow up.