I was a poet

I used to love to write.  It was my escape.  I stayed up at night writing, editing, perfecting.  I loved to write poetry mostly.  I still remember when I woke my parents up from a sound sleep because I needed them to hear my finished product.  What was I thinking?  So, tonight I thought I'd share this little gem from September 1, 1988 by Mary Kris Currie:

A Special Thanks

There was a war in Vietnam

that really shouldn't have been.

We went there to help them out 

but lost a lot of good men.

I know some people who were in that war

who I wish were never there.  They really mean a lot 

to me for showing how much they cared.

To those good men who are still alive

I think you're really great.

You fought for what our country believes in-

that is to love and not to hate.

Though the war may seem like it's over,

you have to deal with it everyday.  

And the scars may be healed over 

but the memories just won't go away.

I'd really like to thank you for doing what you did, 

you showed us the meaning of bravery while others just ran and hid.

I was a little bit younger than Bailey is now when I wrote that.  It seems silly reading it now but at the time it meant so much to me.

I didn't even remember writing this poem- it's funny that I found it tonight too.  Sandie and I are sisters from another mother.  Completely different- but completely one.  We were the yin to the other's yang.  We were harmony in total disharmony.    

I grew up very close to my cousins- for the most part I still consider them my oldest, dearest friends.  We may not talk to each other as often as we did when we were younger, but not a day goes by that I don't think of special memories I had growing up with a huge, wonderful extended family on both my mom's side and my dad's side of the family tree.

This one's for you Sandie, from 1989:

We grew up together, had our share of fights.

Told each other secrets, stared at the city lights.

Now we've grown apart, talk only once in a while.

We were always screaming, now I miss your smile.

Remember the boat rides?  The circles we went around.

Our camping trips and our having to sleep on the ground.

I would visit your house or you would visit mine.

Remember the "peppermint sticks" or being called Christmas trees and feeling fine?

I remember the big fight

the one up in my room.

If we were in the kitchen, I might have used the broom.

Let's remember all the good times, and even the bad.

We can keep these memories and always be glad.

When I was about 14 years old I went on vacation to my Aunt Sue's house in Long Island.  My mom and aunt found my cousins, Sandie, Christine and me matching shirts that were green, red and white- all three colors alternating throughout each shirt.  

Christine had beautiful long blond hair,  Sandie had gorgeous red, medium length hair and I had short dark brown hair.  We were all so different, but still so alike- in so many ways.  And we should have known better by this age and put a stop to this whole unfortunate episode. 

I think our moms had asked us to all wear the shirts together for a trip to the mall.  We each wore white shorts along with our red, green and white short sleeved shirts.  We looked really special.  (You're picturing teenager versions of Charlie's Angels right now- wind blowing through our hair- music video fog creeping up from the floor as we walked out of Macy's into the corridor of the mall, aren't you?)  Nope.  We might as well have been in strollers.  We looked so ridiculously toddler-esque.   

We were allowed to go off on our own, the three of us- as long as we stayed together (God forbid we broke up our pattern).  Mom and Aunt Sue told us what time we had to meet back up together and where the meeting place would be.   Off we went.  

You've seen the movie Mean Girls?  Two 'plastics' came up to us at one point in the afternoon.  They were dressed in white tank tops and matching Richard Simmons style striped shorts (they were matching too- but I didn't get the feeling their moms had dressed them up).  One of the girls asked us why we were all wearing the same shirts and shorts.  I've thought about this many times over the last 25+ years.  This may have been the defining moment in my life when I decided sarcasm would be the best way to handle all future uncomfortable situations- I'd never feel like a victim again.  When we told her we didn't have a reason for why we were all dressed alike (why we didn't just say we were Debbie Gibson's back up singers- I don't know).  She looked each one of us up and back down, looked back at her friend and back to us and said, "You know you look like a bunch of Christmas trees?!" And the two 'plastics' turned and walked away.  

It wasn't over, oh no.  No. No. No.  One of us, it may have been me- it might have been Sandie, called out across the hall to the little princesses, "Oh yea?  At least we don't look like peppermint sticks!"  And the three of us threw our heads back in hysterical laughter, turned and ran across the mall to our arranged meeting spot.  

When we got home, we each changed our shirts.  Lesson learned.