The Notebook

i just found a notebook I used during my final semester of grad school at Penn. it has an empty section that i'm going to use now for study notes as i prepare to teach a sunday school class. each time i open it i find a new little treasure: contact info for the professor who kicked my intellectual butt and i admire him for it, especially since he helped me become a better academic writer; questions that led the last chunk of research i did on charter school authorization--interesting to see the thought process of the biggest project of my life; ideas for vocabulary instruction: concept circles, multiple contexts...; a sweet lesson plan Jill and i wrote to teach a short story through superstitions; chicken-scratch, shorthand notes i jotted down right after my then-boyfriend told me he loved me for the first time--it was in a parking lot outside the building my class was in, afterwards i ran to class (late) and wrote down everything. cute. and another thing, a short story i wrote during a dialect exercise for my English Methods class. it is untitled.

This is my dad. The picture shows just the two of us, 'cause it's just the two of us that's left. My mom and two brothers were in a car accident and died. I used to say they were killed, but when I used to tell people that word they thought I was being dramatic. At least that's what I think they thought of me. That was back when I cared what people thought of me. I don't, now. So I guess I can say that my mom and two brothers were killed in a car crash and it don't matter how I say it.

Before the crash, I used to help my mom with my little brothers. They were always running around and getting into trouble. I had to keep an eye on them for my mom on account of her headaches. She would just get really mad at them. I knew they didn't know any better so I just tried to keep them under control. This one time, though, I still feel really bad about it. When we came home from the store one night Matty showed me this pack of gum he stole. It was the Bubbalicious kind that you can pop bubbles with, that you can smell it clear across the room. Well he showed that to me because he was going to share it with me and Jonathan. I thought it was pretty nice of him to share. And I sort of felt bad for him because he was all nervous and too excited to eat it. But then I saw it and even though he told me to "shshshsh," I still told my mom. She was really mad and we had to take it back to the store and give it back and Matty was crying. Mom didn't care if he was crying. She just got a headache and grounded him for a week. Now I think...he was just trying to share with me. Maybe I shoulda just let that go and ate some gum with him.

So now it's just the two of us, me and my dad. Things are better now than after the accident. They're just different. But at least my dad isn't freaking out all the time. It's weird to see him crying and try to take care of things without my mom. And sometimes it's awkward with just the two of us alone, but we got to where we really like watching movies with eating popcorn and chocolate. Mom, that was her favorite mix in her mouth and so we eat that just when watch movies.


that's it. the dialect is heard better in my own handwriting. i wonder what made me pick such a sad subject. i can't recall, but i do remember that i was too timid to read it infront of the class, even though i wanted to. so there it is.