The Kat House » childhood

The Kid Who Stole My Pencils

Tish — Thu, 12 Jun 2008 01:18:14 +0000

I have long had a fascination with writing utensils. It goes all the way back to when I was a tot, writing with those gigantic pencils that took both hands just to lift. Once I had mastered that tool, it was time to move on to the regular slender pencils – and a whole new way of writing. Look Mom – one hand!

When I was in seventh grade, there were pencil machines around school. I’m not sure if the schools have them these days, but man – these things were great! For a quarter, you got two shiny new pencils, and the design was always a surprise! Sometimes they had cartoon characters on them. Sometimes you got special seasonal designs. It was anyone’s guess! I vividly remember getting two new pencils one morning. I can’t remember what was on them, but I remember being really excited about my new acquisition. I slipped them down into the pocket on the side of my purse and went about my business. At the end of the day, I was going down a flight of stairs, and I thought I felt something tug on my purse. I turned around to see this jerk of a kid practically right against me. I don’t remember his name, but I can still see his face just like it was yesterday. I didn’t notice anything unusual, so I just went on home. Later I realized that both pencils were gone – stolen right out of my purse! And though I had no evidence, I was pretty damn sure it was that kid from the staircase. I held a grudge against him from that day forward.

As an adult, I rarely use a pencil. I’m now obsessed with pens. I have metal pens, plastic pens, red pens, blue pens, pens with fuzzy feather toppers, and even pens that light up when you write. But there is one pen that I consider to be the world’s best – the Pilot Precise V5 Rolling Ball with Extra Fine Tip. No other tip will do. I prefer blue ink, but I occasionally purchase the ones with black ink. Yes, I’m very picky with my pens.

As for that kid from middle school, well, you know what they say. Revenge is a dish best served cold. And the little pencil dick is eventually going to get his just desserts – nicely chilled for 24 years and counting!

Teens Have it Made!

Tish — Fri, 09 May 2008 02:09:59 +0000

With all the stresses of adulthood, it sure would be nice to be a kid again. Mom and Dad paying all the bills, cooking dinner, driving us to and fro – man, we had it made, didn’t we? Spring break, summer vacation, winter holidays. Those things seem so great now, yet most of us hated our awkward teenage years. After all, there were just so many life altering decisions to make – like whether to use the Oxy or Stridex acne treatments. Why can’t adult life be so simple?

“Freckle Face”

Tish — Fri, 02 May 2008 22:55:01 +0000

You may not be able to tell from most of my photos, but I have lots of freckles on my face. I’ve come to accept them, and even really like them at times, but it was a much different story when I was younger. The kids at school called me “freckle face”. I hated it. I remember complaining to my grandmother at one point. She just kept telling me how cute the freckles were, and that they made me unique, and that I had better not even think of using any skin whitening products to get rid of them. I took her advice, and I’m glad I did. When I started dating, the boys loved my freckles! In fact, I still get a lot of compliments on them. But of course, there are still those who love to make fun of me – like Kevin. He insists that my freckles become much more noticeable when my face is red from embarrassment. And I guess he should know since he’s the one so hell bent on embarrassing me! Someday I’ll get him to tell you about the car windows getting smashed at a baseball game we attended! Heck, Kevin, go ahead and share the story in the comments!

A Step Back in Time #2

Tish — Sun, 20 Apr 2008 03:15:02 +0000

My parents have lots of photos of me as a child, but I believe this is the only one in my possession.

The photo is undated, so I can only speculate as to my age. I was probably about 5 or 6 years old. My dreams of becoming a country singer never came to fruition, because well, my voice sucks. And obviously, so does my fashion sense.

You Know What Bugs Me?

chattiekat — Fri, 02 Nov 2007 15:47:30 +0000

I’ve really enjoyed reading the comments posted on my Getting to Know Meme. I have been reminded of things I hadn’t thought about in years! All this reminiscing has motivated me to start digging through my memories and preserving more of them here. Here’s one to get us started.

I was in Mrs. Dingler’s kindergarten class. On this particular day, like most other days back then, we were creating artistic masterpieces. There was a table full of construction paper, paint, glue, crayons, magic markers, and even macaroni. I worked diligently to make something pretty that my parents would want to hang on the fridge.

My mom came to pick me up at the end of the day, and Mrs. Dingler expressed “concern” for me. She showed my mom the picture I had created. There were black beetles glued all over the paper.

Much to my disappointment, I don’t think that picture ever graced the refrigerator door.

A Stitch in Time…

chattiekat — Thu, 16 Aug 2007 17:52:04 +0000

I come from a very crafty family. My maternal grandmother cross stitched. My mother handcrafted dolls and stuffed animals. Fortunately, their do-it-yourself talents were passed down the family tree.

My grandmother taught me to cross stitch. She tried to teach all the girls in the family, but I’m the only one who took a real shine to it. The other kids each took to their own crafts – my sister to a variety of sewing and crafting projects, and my cousin to candle making. One of my brothers has been gifted with a talent for woodworking.

My grandmother battled cancer for the last few years of her life, and she died in 1993 at age 65. I think of her often with fond memories. I remember having Thanksgiving dinner at her house. I remember waking her up while playing Operation with my sister and cousin. I remember her sweet smile and the kindness she always displayed. But most of all, I remember the cross stitching. She always had a project in hand, and she always encouraged me to do the same.

“Mamaw” always told us the story of The Cross Room. Basically, the story goes that a man was struggling in life, so he told God that his cross was too heavy to bear. God then took the man to a room full of crosses and asked him to lay down his cross and choose another. Some were like towers. Others were smaller than a breadbox. The man walked around the gigantic room and then chose a tiny cross leaned up against a far wall. “That is the cross I want,” said the man. God replied, “My child, that is the one you just carried in.”

Mamaw loved that story, and she always talked of stitching it for a wall hanging. She never got around to it. Toward the end of her life, she went blind in her left eye due to a brain tumor. Tears well in my eyes as I think of how sad she was that her ability to cross stitch had been hindered.

After Mamaw’s death, my mom gave me all of her cross stitch books and materials. I added them to the big box of my own. I am ashamed to say that I hadn’t opened that box in several years until a few nights ago. As I sorted through my many half-finished projects, I found an old newspaper clipping of “The Cross Room”. I found graph paper with half-finished patterns for the story. I found several unsuccessful attempts to stitch the story.

My grandmother’s love of cross stitch now resides in me. It always has, even though I haven’t practiced regularly for a number of years. Cross stitch utilizes fine threads, allowing you to create beautifully detailed art. Even the smallest projects take a significant amount of time to complete, but the sense of accomplishment is great.

Last night I began working on a Christmas tree ornament. I thought my skills would be rusty, but I’m progressing quite nicely. I plan to do a few small projects to get back into the groove. Then I’m going to tackle the project my grandmother always dreamed of. I’m going to design and stitch a wall hanging of The Cross Room. I am going to hang it in my living room to serve as a constant reminder that there are others who are far less fortunate than I. And I am going to honor my grandmother’s memory by bearing my cross just as she bore hers – with diligence and dignity.

Early Childhood Memories

chattiekat — Sat, 01 Jul 2006 03:34:00 +0000

George recently did a post about early childhood memories. What is the earliest memory that you can recall? Cruise on over to his blog and let him know. As for yours truly, I remember eating a bar of soap when I was about two years old. Yes, I ate the whole bar! I have no idea why I did it. It seems that only one bite would have made me sick!

Childhood Memory #2

chattiekat — Mon, 19 Jun 2006 00:21:00 +0000

I can’t remember how old I was at the time – probably somewhere around 8 or 9. We lived on a dead end street with virtually no traffic, so we used the road as our playground. We sometimes chalked off an area to play Four Square. I don’t remember much about that game – just that there were four players who bounced a ball back and forth between themselves.

On this particular day, I was playing Four Square with my brother Ralph, my sister Geneva, and my cousin Rebecca. We would sometimes choose a category, such as animals, cars, or colors. You were expected to give a unique word within that category when the ball was bounced to you.

After going through several other categories, someone suggested the category beans. Off we went. Pinto, lima, black, red, green. And then the ball bounced to Ralph. His answer?

Pork’n.

Only in Tennessee!

Childhood Memory #1

chattiekat — Sat, 17 Jun 2006 18:36:00 +0000

I remember one particular day when I was in third grade. I was ill and had stayed home. We lived practically right next to my school. At one point during the day, my teacher, Mrs. Hall, stopped by my house to check up on me. She had been my second grade teacher as well, and I was very fond of her. She had always treated me especially well – except for the one time she put me in “time out” for accompanying a boy’s musical efforts with my makeshift drum set, which consisted of my fingers on a desk. Anyway, back to the story…

Mrs. Hall showed up at my house and informed my mother that there was a school spelling bee that day, and she really wanted me to participate. My mom asked me if I’d like to. I said no. After all, I was sick!

At that time in my life, I had a serious fascination with paper dolls. Do you guys remember those things? They were little cardboard people that you could dress up with special paper and/or vinyl clothing. Oh, the memories! If they still make those things, I’d like to have some!

After I had informed my mom that I was not willing to go to school for the spelling bee, she pulled out the big guns. She bribed me! “I’ll get you some new paper dolls if you do it,” she said. Without a moment’s hesitation, I said yes. I then went to school and won the spelling bee. Not bad for a third grader who was competing against sixth graders!

My mom kept her promise, and I got lots of new paper dolls. And since I had won my school’s spelling bee, I was then expected to compete in a regional spelling bee. That required even more paper dolls! I didn’t win the regional competition, but I fared pretty well. And the only thing that mattered to me were all the new paper dolls that were waiting for me when I got home that evening!

It’s Dorky Tuesday!

chattiekat — Tue, 06 Sep 2005 13:22:00 +0000

Osbasso has declared today Dorky Tuesday. Here’s my dork photo from freshman year of high school. Notice the bob cut, greasy hair, big teeth, unibrow, and complete lack of boobies. And in case you need further convincing of my dorkiness, I was voted “Future Nuclear Scientist” in high school. I was editor of the yearbook staff, and I was also involved in student government. I was the geek of all geeks.

I’m also posting a photo of me taken two days ago, so that you can see the incredible transformation. I still can’t believe I’m posting this. Darn you, Osbasso!

1986

2005