A poem from Me@18 to Me@45

Vitality Stories

Me w/3 of my 5 older siblings & perhaps my Mom’s lap

I Remember

The response to my last newsletter has been rewarding, including hearing from a high school friend who sent me a copy of a poem I wrote in the 12^th grade, I Remember. I Remember was published in the high school’s annual publication, The Verbatim.

I Remember

I remember skipping down the
Sidewalk without a care in the world
I remember swing sets, Barbie Dolls
And black patent shoes
I remember restless nights before
Christmas morning
I remember jumping on the dark
Tiles of a grocery store floor
To avoid the quicksand
While my mother
Finished shopping

~ Teri Case

I don’t remember writing, I Remember. It must have been an assignment because poetry has never been a talent of mine, and therefore, nothing I was inclined to write on my own. In fact, three years later in a required college poetry class, I was asked to read a poem about a red trike. By the time I finished, a classmate was apoplectic with literary dismay. “She doesn’t know which words to emphasize!” “She read it like it meant nothing!” “She ruined it!” “What a waste!”

I Remember — remembered or not — makes me happy to read. The Twelfth grade was a challenging year for me. My younger brother and I were living on our own. We each had $250 a month from our deceased father’s social security benefits, and I was working two jobs after school and on weekends; my brother wasn’t legally old enough to work. We lived with our grandpa but he couldn’t afford to finish raising two teenagers, and he charged us rent for our rooms—one room had no heat, and temperatures often fell below freezing in the winter—and we were responsible for buying our food, clothes, and transportation.

Like the character, Carrie Sloan, in my novel, Tiger Drive, I felt college was my ticket towards a better life, and my future hinged on a serious obstacle — I couldn’t afford college. My mom was my legal guardian, but she was unavailable to complete my Federal Pell Grant application for financial assistance and school loans. While I’d been forging her signature for a year on high school documents, I wasn’t ready to falsify a federal application. I was applying for scholarships and getting as much guidance as I could from the school counselor without revealing I was a minor on my own (though when I turned eighteen, I broke down and told the counselor the truth, and he became my hero by replying, “Okay, let’s write an appeal for independence so you can file for a Pell Grant on your own.” I was approved!).

Like Carrie, I worried about whom I would leave behind. What would happen to my brother when I went to college? The university required a freshman to reside in a dormitory if he/she wouldn’t be living with his/her parents–moving him with me wasn’t an option. Fortunately, we didn’t have to find out. Just as I graduated from high school, my mom moved back to Carson City with my youngest brother and sister. She was healthier and happier when she returned, and for the first time in a long time, our lives reached a semblance of normalcy.

This long-lost poem is illuminating. It shows me that in a year that I recall as being riddled with angst, I was able to turn to happy memories. The poem is true. I loved to go grocery shopping with my mom and play ‘Quicksand’ on the colored tiles with my brothers and sisters. I played relentlessly with my Barbie Dolls, and I still carry a fascination for patent leather shoes and the magic of the holiday season. And to this day, swinging and skipping make me giggle. I remember.

What’s your poem about your childhood? I’d be delighted to know.

Happy Spring and as always, thanks for being you.

Teri