The Year Was 9597

I was looking through old school files I have still saved on my computer when I came across this story I wrote as a 9th grader. Reading this for the first time in years, I am both shocked by the way my 15-year-old self saw the world and entertained by the creativity and ridiculousness of the story.

            The year was 9597 on the evening of July the 4^th. Stupidity filled the air in George’s town of Hofenlofel. The air was quiet and full of helium. George was sitting in his living quarter in his bubble. His mother was preparing tenth-meal in the kitchen.

            “Excuse me, Mother. I don’t mean to be a bother, but I was wondering if it would be possible for you to tell me what we shall be having for tenth-meal?”

            “How dare you speak to your mother so rudely? We are having chocolate enchiladas. Also, I made a special celery sauce to spice it up. Mind your manners, stupid!” Without another word, Mrs. Shizzle walked out of the kitchen.

            Without moving a tentacle, George closed his eyeballs. He then proceeded to bend down so that all ten knuckles were touching the ground, and crawled to the prayer rug. He was, of course, a devout Bushan.

            “George, my lord,” he prayed to the god. His mother named him George in honor of George Bush, a martyr who lived hundreds of years previously and had died nobly to save his country, and for that he was eternally worshipped.

            “George, forgive me for my extreme rudeness to my mother!” Young George prayed.

            “You have been forgiveded!” A strong voice boomed.

            Young George slowly stood up. People lived fairly short lives in Hofenlofel and the surrounding towns, and at the age of twelve George was getting quite old.

            He was starting to prepare for the day when he would have a son. In Hofenlofel, you see, when a boy turned thirteen, he would find a bubble floating in the air and touch it. A baby boy would then begin to grow on his back. Three days later, the bubble on the boy’s back would burst and break his spine, quickly ending his life.

            This was what had happened to George’s father just twelve years before. At the age of seventeen, Mrs. Shizzle, like all Hofenlofalen females, had found the bubble of Frank Shizzle, George’s father. The bubble grew on the side of her body, and after just a few weeks it disconnected from Mrs. Shizzle and Palieta had been born. All Hofenlofalen women gave birth to female babies, and all the men gave birth to baby boys. Every person had only one bubble, with a few cases of people carrying two. The tragic part of the Hofenlofalen way of reproduction was that a couple always had their girl before their boy, and the boys never knew their fathers. Girls at least knew their fathers for a few years before they died giving birth to the boy.

            “Dinner, stupid!” Mrs. Shizzle loved her son greatly.

            “Mother, can you tell me more about my dad? Why must all the fathers die in our world?”           

            “It is the way of our culture. After about thirteen, boys carry a huge risk of becoming men.”

            “A man? What’s that?” George was very curious.

            “It is a species that lived several thousand years ago. You see, males used to live very long lives, almost as long as females, and-“

            “Really?”

            “Yes, George. Have I really failed to tell you this before, stupid?”

            “I suppose you have, Mother.”

            “Well then. As I was saying, years and years ago, males lived very differently. They never had babies; only women did. The baby grew in the woman’s belly, not her side or back.

            “Over the years, we evolved from these dumb humans into the far more intelligent dibderions we are today. Since this species called men were deemed so useless, they eventually began to die off at younger ages, until they died at thirteen like they do now.” Mrs. Shizzle smiled at her young son, waiting for his response.

            “Well I’m sure glad I don’t live in that stupid world,” commented George.

            George and Mrs. Shizzle decided to go for a stroll before tenth-meal. Mrs. Shizzle called Palieta to join them in the shuttle, but she didn’t want to go.

“We’re going to travel back in time to the time that males lived long lives like I was telling you,” said Mrs. Shizzle.

“Sounds super!” George was very excited.

A couple hours later, George and Mrs. Shizzle arrived on planet Earth. The year was all the way back in 2007. George and Mrs. Shizzle landed the shuttle on a large green space.

“This is called a field, stupid,” Mrs. Shizzle told her son.

“What are these peculiar green strands?” Asked George, picking small strands of a strange green, damp substance.

“I believe they are called grapes, but let me check the history book I brought along,” responded Mrs. Shizzle. A few moments later she returned to the spot where George was sitting on the grapes.

“I believe they actually call these strands grasses. It says you can just say grass, though. Let’s go explore, stupid!”

“Right behind you, Mother!” Called George.

Mrs. Shizzle led her son to a strange structure that, oddly enough, was not floating off the ground. There were some strange symbols on the structure. Mrs. Shizzle referred to her history book she had brought along.

            “I believe this symbol is called two. And the other symbols that look like circles are called zeros, but it says here that in this time period these humans call them O’s as well.”

            “Look at that strange creature!” shouted George, “He’s fat!”

            “Let me look at my book, stupid. One moment!” Mrs. Shizzle paused for a minute to consult her history book.

            “It says here that humans were often very fat because they ate too much of a certain substance called fat. Good thing we completely eliminated that from our diets two hundred years ago.” The mother and son proceeded to the middle of what they would soon realize was a prehistoric school.

            “Sit here, stupid,” Mrs. Shizzle affectionately directed her son, “Look right there!” She pointed with her left tentacle at a young creature wearing a sack on his rear side.

            “That’s a man!” cried Mrs. Shizzle, “Look, George! That one is probably about sixteen. As you know, I’ve done a lot of research on these strange creatures. Look at him, kicking that nice young girl.”

            “I think they are just playing,” commented George.

            “No, son. The human male was a violent creature as you can see here. They tend to turn things upside down, and they fight eachother, and they even enjoy picking on females. It’s horrible! That’s why we don’t have adult males in Hofenlofel, George.”

            George and his mother proceeded to ascend a strange set of levels that were each only as big as the end of their leg tentacles. The sequence made them go up higher! They were amazed at this strange structure. After referring to her history book, Mrs. Shizzle told George that she believed the structure was called a flight of airplanes.

            “A flight of airplanes? Don’t you mean a flight of stairs, Mother?” questioned George.

            “Why, yes! You must be paying close attention to your studies, stupid. I’m so proud of you!”

            There was a strange looking creature coming down the stairs, seemingly growling at a young male who was innocently kissing a young female. The old man was round and old, seemingly about sixty-five years of age. His white hair covered his whole head, and he glared in the Shizzles’ direction.

            “Run!” cried Mrs. Shizzle, “We’ve been caught!” 

            “Stop, by order of the headmaster!” called the fat man. The Shizzles just kept running.

            “Headmaster calling for backup,” cried the fat man into his communication device. Another man came hobbling along the path, holding the other device that the fat man was talking into. He had a horrible limp in his legs, and growled when he spoke.

            “There were some aliens here just a moment ago. We have to act quickly!” the Shizzles heard the fat man say to the man with the limp. George and his mom were watching the stupid old men from a safe distance by the grapes, or grass as they thought it must be called.

            The fat man, wearing a strange sort of clothing object Mrs. Shizzle reasoned must be some form of pants and a shirt, began to run in the opposite direction of where the Shizzles were hiding. His fat bounced around in his shirt, and George couldn’t help but to giggle. Unfortunately the attackers heard him.

            “Who goes there?” called the fat man, spinning all the way around to look right where the Shizzles had just been hiding. Losing his delicate balance, he then proceeded to fall to the ground, belly jiggling all over. His shirt became un-tucked in his clumsiness, and a hairy, fat stomach gurgled out all over the concrete. George closed his eyes in absolute disgust.

            “Quiet, stupid,” whispered Mrs. Shizzle to her son, “ He seems to be half deaf, so I think we’re alright, but let’s be cautious.”

            The limping man caught up to the fat one just as the fat was trickling out the fat man’s shirt. The limping man was also large and wore what Mrs. Shizzle referred to as athletic pants that he pulled up almost to his womanly chest.

            “Get up!” yelled the man with the large chest.

            “Those are commonly referred to as man boobs in this time period,” whispered Mrs. Shizzle, pointing to the man’s chest where fatty tissue jiggled as he attempted to run.

            After several minutes, both men managed to stand up and began to look around, searching for the “aliens” the fat one claimed he had seen just moments before. The Shizzles couldn’t believe what an entertaining show George was getting to see on his first trip back in time to the days of planet Earth. Just then a tall, thin woman with dark brown hair neatly pulled back ran up to the two stupid men.

            “Are you alright? You fell awfully hard, sir,” she said to the fat man who had fallen. She had to look up to greet him, as he was much taller than she was.

            “Yes, thank you,” replied the tall fat man, stumbling and turning red. The woman smiled gently and turned to walk away. She smiled at teenage children walking by her on their way to their studies, and the Shizzles could tell she was much friendlier than either of the two fat men. Then she entered a nearby building at the other end of the cement path where the two men stood, and disappeared into it.

            The Shizzles walked across the field of grapes, or was it grass? Mrs. Shizzle wasn’t too sure, but what she did know was that it was past time for dinner back home. She and George loaded up the shuttle and prepared to take off.

            “Wait a moment!” called George, thinking quickly, “I’d like to take home some of that man’s fat to show Palieta!”

            “You can’t take his fat home, sweetie,” said Mrs. Shizzle, “I would try to take some, but he might eat me. He looks like a hungry fat man. I’m a little concerned.” The shuttle took off back to Hofenlofel for dinner.

            “This is why we can’t trust human beings,” said Mrs. Shizzle with a sigh to herself, and she turned to look out the window at the two squirming fat men, now as small as ants on the ground miles below.

When All My Clothes Were Play Clothes

Sitting under the shade structure supervising children on the playground, I think back to when I was that age...

I miss when all my clothes were play clothes, when school clothes and exercise clothes were one and the same. I miss being able to play on the playground at a moment's notice without worrying about whether my hair would stay out of my face, because it was already so short, or whether I had the right shoes on, because I wore athletic shoes every day. I miss the creativity to turn the play equipment into a ship and the thrill of a slide that even the frequent shock of static electricity at the bottom couldn't hamper.

But alas, now I'm an adult. No longer do I run, chase, and climb all throughout the day; now my main exercise comes from my four hour-long classes each week at the gym. Before working out, I change my clothes and shoes and tie my hair into a ponytail. My daytime clothes are different from my workout clothes; I wouldn't be able to go straight from school or work to the gym without changing. I don't play tag, hang upside down, or dig holes with my bare hands on a daily basis anymore.

I miss when all my clothes were play clothes.

Lunch Date with a Murderer

Joe has been in a feud with Nate for as long as he can remember. Their families have lived near each other for generations and have never gotten along. Worst of all, nobody is exactly sure how the whole conflict started in the first place. Joe grew up hearing stories of his grandparents' and even great-grandparents' struggles with Nate's family and has always been so bothered by the whole situation. Joe's friends and even acquaintances he barely knows are full of various suggestions; some say that Joe should meet up with Nate for lunch to talk and try to find middle ground while others have advised Joe to offer Nate one of his prized possessions, like maybe the old baseball cap from the 20's that is now worth a nice chunk of cash.

The major issue, though, is that while Joe wants this whole feud to end so he and his family can get on with their lives, Nate and his family want Joe's family dead. Because they are subtle about this wish, only a few of Joe's friends know the truth; most think that if Joe was just a little nicer to Nate and his family, the feud would end. But Joe knows that no amount of negotiating or gift giving will ever satisfy Nate. Nate has been taught from birth to hate Joe's family and he will not give up the feud until Joe is dead.

Replace Joe with the Israelis and Nate with the Palestinians and you have the true story of the conflict in the Middle East. How can any productive negotiations ever happen when Israel wants peace and the Palestinians want Israel and its inhabitants dead? No matter how much land Israel gives up, the Palestinians will not be satisfied. They don't want a two-state solution; they want a one-state Jew-free solution. While there are numerous Palestinian Arabs who wish to live peacefully amongst their Jewish neighbors, they are greatly overshadowed by the Jew-hating leadership of the Palestinian Authority.

A Girl I Used To Know

As I was walking to work this afternoon with my music on shuffle, a song came on that reminded me of a girl I used to know: Message In A Bottle by The Police; she loved that song. She was an 8th grader and had that song on her pink iPod Mini. Worn out after being at school nearly eight hours, and sometimes up to ten, she'd listen to her music while lying on the cement and resting her head on her backpack until she saw her dad in the blue minivan or her mom in the old white Camry pull into the parking lot.

She was tall and thin, even lanky. Within inches of six feet, her height alone might suggest a full grown woman but her narrow frame would give her away as the young teen she was. She often wore printless cotton sweatshirts and jeans during the cold weather and Bermuda shorts with a t-shirt in the early fall and spring. She usually wore her short auburn hair down and clipped to the side but pulled it back into a half ponytail for basketball.

She was so proud to have made the JV basketball team as just an 8th grader, and looking back, I, too, am so proud of her. Her school spanned grades six through twelve and, while still part of the middle school, eighth graders had the opportunity to try out for high school sports teams. She had played basketball in grades three, four, and five, but her main sport had always been soccer. She had signed up to play basketball the previous year as a seventh grader but had changed her mind at the last minute. She only ended up at tryouts this year because her friend was going. She had her PE locker in the older east gym but practices were usually in the nicer west gym, so she would change into her practice uniform after school and then strut over to the other gym, basketball shoes still untied; she thought she was pretty spiffy.

She was sometimes intimidated by new things but also adventurous and quite competitive. At the beginning of the school year, her class took a multi-night trip to a camp a few hours away. While other students enjoyed activities around the property, she signed up to climb a mountain. On the morning of the trip, she woke up before dawn and hopped into a van with a handful of other students and some adults to get to the trailhead. The trail started innocently enough but by the end the group was climbing nearly straight up as they both walked and bouldered up the mountain. Many hours into this all-day trip, the sky grew dark and lightning started to strike. This girl  stayed tough, though, and kept up with the group as they continued to ascend despite the scary weather. They eventually came back down and huddled under a roof in the pouring rain to wait to be picked up.

On the same trip, the students spent some time with their advisories, groups of about ten students assigned to a lead teacher who would serve as the students' advocate and the families' main school contact for the year. Amongst a myriad of group games and trust exercises was blob tag, a version of tag in which each person who is tagged becomes part of the blob that must stay connected while chasing other players. I remember that game mostly because her advisor snapped a great photo during it which ended up in her school yearbook, and in the short color section, no less. I sure love that photo of her, captioned "running for her life". In it, she narrowly escapes the blob of at least three other kids. I think it serves as a bit of a metaphor for her; while she was often bullied and feared the unknown, she also made excellent grades, played on the JV basketball team while still a middle schooler, participated in student government, attended weekly religious school, and was a Cadette Girl Scout. In short, she never stopped running forward with her life.

I sure enjoyed knowing this girl back then. She was a fun kid, both goofy and studious, opinionated and shy. While I haven't seen this 8th grader in nearly a decade now, it made me happy to remember her today with a song she used to listen to.

Thanks V

Her name was V and she was a bitch. I was a freshman and she was a junior. I was tall, lanky, awkward, and on the varsity basketball team. She was short, athletic, and the star of the varsity basketball team. In addition to basketball, she had another keen interest- making my life as miserable as possible.

I was the only freshman on the squad and there were two sophomores; the rest were juniors and seniors. The school included grades 6-12 with about 400 high school students, plus about eighty 8th graders who were also eligible to play on high school teams. Out of the approximately 280 girls in grades 8-12, I was apparently one of the top ten or twelve basketball players who bothered to put up with our jerk of a coach.

V led the others in tormenting me day in and day out. Varsity practice started about an hour after school ended, so we would hang around for awhile and then head to the locker room to change into our practice uniforms. I was using a brush to put my hair into a ponytail for practice one day and held the brush momentarily between my thighs while I used both of my hands to tie my hair. V announced it looked like male genitalia.

One day after practice, V decided to spray water from her water bottle at me. I threw water right back at her, probably a bit more than she had thrown at me. Then I ran. A normal upperclassman might have run after the freshman jokingly, but she was in no joking mood. She really wanted to hurt me. We ran down the hall and then back before ending up at the back doors. By the end of the ordeal, I was on the floor and she was not.

This was the beginning of the end. I stopped getting out of bed in the morning to go to school. Often I would arrive late or not at all. I had always been a great student, but now I had B's and C's.

In the spring, my parents sent in our registration cards for 10th and 7th grade. Not long after, mine was returned in the mail along with a letter. I was not being invited back for 10th grade. We appealed our case briefly. More trauma ensued. I was bullied online by a girl who had enjoyed doing things to me since as early as 4th grade. Our family decided I should print out the transcript and show it to the 9th/10th grade coordinator, the equivalent perhaps of an assistant principal. Maybe I should remove this girl from my contacts list, she suggested.

I went to public school the next year for one of the best school years of my life. On orientation day, I was one of the only students who was not a freshman. I found my friend J, a girl I went to elementary school with, who was volunteering for the day. I didn't see her for awhile after that day, though, and the first several weeks were hard because I didn't know many people. Then one day in history class I heard the name of a girl I went to elementary school with, B. Which one was she? I looked around and didn't recognize her. She must have remembered me too because not long after that, we reconnected. From then on, I had a friend group. We ate lunch together every day in the grass. J and B were there, as well as C from elementary school and two girls I had played soccer with in 4th grade, L and A. J, C, and L had also been in Girl Scouts with me. I met M and CT, too. After those first few lonely weeks, I never ate alone again that year.

I tried out for basketball and made the team. I had previously been on the varsity team for a low-ranking 3A school, but now I was on C-team for one of the best 5A programs in the state. We worked hard, won all of our games, and became a close-knit group. We spent 12 hours a week together on the court but also got together a few times throughout the season for pasta dinners before games.

During sophomore year, I had lunch every day with my friends. I spent four months playing basketball with a great group of girls and an awesome coach. I did well in school. So really V, you didn't win. I won. I can't imagine what my life would have been like if I had stayed at the private school. V, you tried to ruin me, but in the end it was because of you that I ended up in such a happy place. Thanks so much!

Letters to Me: 10 years old

Dear 10-year-old Sarah,

This is going to be a big year for you, Sarah. You're going to change schools, and it's going to be hard, but you can do it. You've struggled this past school year in 4th grade at the public elementary where you've gone to school since kindergarten. I know you don't like changes, especially ones as big as this, but keep in mind that your parents really are just trying to do what is best for you. Keeping a positive attitude during this transition will make a big difference.

At the Jewish day school where you will be in 5th grade, you'll continue to study the core subjects you learned at your old school, but you'll also get to study Hebrew and Jewish Studies during the school day. You don't know this yet as you haven't studied languages much so far, except perhaps weekly Spanish lessons with the neighborhood kids when you were in about 2nd grade, but you'll soon realize learning languages comes more naturally to you than the average person. Learn as much as you can because you are the perfect age to absorb it. Once you are a teenager and then adult, learning languages will become more challenging.

Spend lots of time with your dog Mali, because someday you'll wish you could hug her just one more time. Enjoy her sweet youthful years; she's still just two years old! She loves you so much, Sarah, and wants you to be gentle with with her even when you are angry or frustrated. She's a great listener, so take her in your room and tell her what is bothering you. Teach her to play fetch in the yard and take her for lots of walks in the neighborhood. You'll have a lot of fun and great memories that you will cherish in the years to come.

Not having a choice but to spend your days with whatever kids happen to be in your class at school can be tough but as you get into middle school and especially high school and beyond, you will have more choice about who you spend your time with. You'll have more freedom to spend time with people you like and to avoid people who are unkind. Try to keep that in mind when you feel trapped spending your time with the same small group of kids day in and day out.

Your parents have told you never to hit at school, but if someone physically harasses you, you have my permission to respond physically back. The response should be proportionate to the attack and should not injure the provoker, but when done right, the person should not continue to bother you. With verbal teasing, don't be too good to call them a name back. You better not start the name calling but you absolutely may respond to it.

Hang in there, Sarah. Being ten is going to be tough sometimes but it's also going to be a lot of fun. Enjoy hanging from the monkey bars, swinging on the swings, and eating huge amounts of junk food without getting sick.

All the best,
22-year-old Sarah

Frozen Yogurt, Memories, and Change

I'm visiting home for a little while and wanted to meet up with a friend. She suggested a frozen yogurt place near our high school. I hadn't heard of it but agreed to meet her there.

We graduated from high school in 2010. Actually, my friend went to a different school for senior year but we both spent several years at our district high school. We went there from 2007-2010 and 2006-2009, respectively. Not all that long ago, right?

I used my phone before I left to see more specifically where the frozen yogurt shop was and as I drove into the shopping center, I spotted it right away.

"This used to be a TCBY, right?" I asked my friend when we were both in the shop.
"No" she reminded me, "it was a Baskin Robbins."
"Oh yeah, remember we used to come here for free scoop day after school?"
"Yeah" she responded and we both smiled.

I passed by one side of the high school on my drive over and immediately noticed that one of the parking lots was completely dirt. I mentioned it to my friend.

"I used to park there on Flex Days!" I exclaimed. I usually parked in that lot only once a week because, due to the different schedule, my first class of the day was on that end of the campus.

"Oh gosh, Flex Days!" said my friend. We recalled how easily we used to know the schedule each day, down to the exact minute each class was supposed to begin and end, and now it was so far from our minds.

"You know they're building a Walmart grocery store where the bookstore used to be?" my friend asked, referring to a space near where we were eating our frozen yogurt.

"Ya, I heard," I responded. I later realized that it has been probably about ten years since that space was a bookstore. It was most recently a Walgreens, until Walgreens moved to a new space just across the street, but she referred to it as where the bookstore used to be and I knew just what she was talking about.

A different friend told me earlier in the summer that she is working at a pet shop near my high school. I had a faint memory of that being there, but I mostly remember an Italian ice shop in the same row of shops. It moved to a new location while I was in high school.

As I drove home, I thought about all the changes that had happened in the area around my high school in just the past few years. In the shopping center where the Walmart is to be built, I noticed the smoothie shop where my friend used to work was no longer there. The school parking lot is being redone, the bookstore became a Walgreens which will soon be a Walmart, the Italian ice shop has long ago moved locations, and the Baskin Robbins went out of business and was replaced by a frozen yogurt shop where I had just spent the last hour and a half catching up with my friend.

Changes aren't just happening to the stores around my high school. In a few weeks I will be a college graduate and we just put down a deposit for a townhouse for me, my first time not living either at home or on campus. As the saying goes, the only constant in life is change, but I know that I have family and friends who will always stick around.