Use Your Words: April 10th, 2015

Hello and happiest Friday to you dear reader!
Today’s post is a writing challenge hosted by the wonderful Karen from Baking In A Tornado. 
This is how it works: participating bloggers picked 4 – 6 words or short phrases for someone else to craft into a post. All words must be used at least once and all the posts will be unique as each writer has received their own set of words. That’s the challenge, here’s a fun twist; no one who’s participating knows who got their words and in what direction the writer will take them.
Until now.
The words I am using are: 
Razzles ~ cell phone ~ Happy Meal ~ gab ~ wings
They were submitted by:         -Thank you Stacy!!   
At the end of this post you’ll find links to the other blogs featuring this challenge. Check them all out, see what words these amazing bloggers got and how they creatively crafted them.

These words instantly took me back to a time when things were seemingly simpler. A time where I could not wait to grow up and live life to the fullest, a time where the toughest decisions were hoops or studs, a time that I oddly remember the pangs and pleasures clearly, a time that everything was felt and excitedly embraced so wholeheartedly that it shames me to think that I have lost a part of the passion that once lived in my soul.
A time that no longer exists, my adolescence.
One of activities I absolutely adored in my adolescence was writing.  Poetry, prose, anything and everything, I scribbled in notebooks, on my hand, in journals, everywhere, and anywhere, just whenever the muse struck, I was a slave and began to write. Unfortunately, that was during my art, history, and math classes as well. A teacher, no the teacher, the kind of teacher that you hope your kids get, the one who may seem quiet and a little cooky, the one who smiles maybe a little too long, the one who spends her own money on supplies, the one who is determined to not only explain and educate a group of rowdy, adolescent idiots about English but also help them fall in love with the subject, that teacher, encouraged me to keep writing.
Mrs. Lute-Brown noticed my scribbles, she noticed my intensity when we covered poetry, she enjoyed my essays. She took the time and invited me to sign up for Saga, a literary poetry/prose magazine that was a class-an actual class-you could take and go through hundreds of submissions, and edit, create, publish an actual magazine. She nominated me to be an editor. She pushed me into Writers Block, an afterschool writing group. But what I remember most about that woman, is that she pushed and encouraged and made that awkward transition of those teen years into adulthood a little easier. At a time when we were finding ourselves, looking for who we are, coming to grips that we lost who we were, trying and failing in many different areas, learning how to deal with pressure and peers, and everything, she was there, patiently listening, teaching, and encouraging.
One of my favorite days in her Creative Writing class was a day she gave us the assignment to write an "I Remember…" poem. The poem was simple, you would write "I remember"…and then fill in the blanks of what you remembered about your childhood. Our class up until that point was disjointed and still finding its way.  After that, we found our groove. Brash baseball players were lost in concentration scratching down memories, quiet girls with long hair were smiling fondly cherishing their moments to paper, the hippies were lost their serene moments.

Then we read them aloud to the class. We found ourselves connecting, reminiscing, living, and finding common ground with strangers, over a simple poem assigned by a smart sweet teacher.  And I remember telling myself that I should do one when I was older and wiser. Well, I am older definitely but wiser is up for debate….
So today, after that long winded intro, I am choosing to do a poem in the' I remember fashion', for my UYW challenge and for my Poem a Day challenge for National Poetry Month.  

I remember Polly Pockets, slap bracelets, Lip Smackers, beanie babies,  pogs and needing them all.
I remember my cousins Barbie's littering my tiny bedroom, their tangled blonde hair disheveled in the crashed convertibles against the ridiculous toy house she had to bring with her.

I remember abandoning those toys and being forced outside by my mom and being told not to come back until the street lights were on.

I remember she fed me pb& j's or bologna and cheese sammy's when I returned famished from playing only an hour later, with a friend, or two, or the whole neighborhood.

I remember her locking the sliding glass door after we left.

I remember my mom sending me to the little convenience store with a note for her cigarettes and using the change to get whatever candy I wanted.

I remember Razzles, Bottle Caps, Warheads and trying not to step on a crack to break my mother's back.

I remember after my mom's third back surgery thinking maybe I should have avoided those cracks in the sidewalk a little more diligently.

I remember refusing Happy Meals because I was older and needed a big kid's meal.

I remember no cell phones, ipads, or computers dominating my downtime.

I remember being excited to use the computers at school to play Oregon Trail.  

I remember feeling surging hormones in the pit of my stomach.

I remember awkward first dances and uncoordinated feet.

I remember the blush of my first kiss coloring my face and not knowing where to put my sweaty palms.

I remember gabbing about nothing and everything lying on the neighbors' trampoline with girls I am amazingly still friends with.

I remember staring up at the night sky wondering if anyone was thinking the exact same thing I was at that moment.  

I remember noticing my hairy arms the first time a boy mocked them.

I remember shaving them that night.

I remember challenging anyone and everyone because I was sure I was right.

I remember my mom shaking her head and somehow not strangling me.

I remember losing my innocence and trying to pray it back.

I remember losing my way.

I remember being guided back on to my path by angels whose wings were hidden from my sight.

I remember my first job and quickly appreciating any and every sacrifice my mom ever made for me.

I remember waiting tables learning people and patience.

I remember being scared and uncertain.

I remember foolishly thinking that my future was certain.

I remember changing, learning and living, loving and forgiving, moving on and letting go and growing into a new me.

And I hope I never forget any of it.

Links to the other  amazing “Use Your Words” posts:                            Baking In A Tornado                       Spatulas on Parade          The Bergham’s Life Chronicles                                     The Momisodes                       Southern Belle Charm              Confessions of a part-time working mom                   Someone Else’s Genius              Stacy Sews and Schools                            Sparkly Poetic Weirdo                    Searching for Sanity                        Climaxed              Eileen’s Perpetually Busy                        Juicebox Confession                             Battered Hope



  1. WOW!!!! Absolutely amazing!!!!!! I am blown away!!!!

  2. I love your poem. Your memories made me smile as I remember so many of the same things.

  3. I found myself remembering a lot of the same things. And some more like my aunt walking along the tracks with me to the store and letting me get a bunch of Swedish Fish :) Thanks for the walk down memory lane.

  4. Oh my, I think I am a generation older, but of those feelings!

  5. This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.

  6. Sigh... I remember those feelings, most of them fondly. Well done!

  7. It was all so important at the time wasn't it? You had no idea that in ten, fifteen, twenty years time you'd look back at yourself and laugh at the naivete, the foolishness, maybe even blush when you remember some of the more horrifying times. I don't miss my adolescence, but I do love to remember it.

  8. Absolutely beautiful!
    I also loved reading about that teacher - the influence she had on you as a person was so much more important than any "fact" that she could teach you.


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