Personal Narrative: My Kid

I used to be a shy kid. The kind of hiding-behind-your-mother’s-legs kind of shy. In elementary school I did not approach anyone to come and play with me. In middle school I was used as a messenger between fighting girls. I didn’t want that job, it was a job that was given to me, forced upon me. In my freshman year of high school I was the most awkward kid in every single photo I appeared in, my pose was inelegant and my expression was often fatigued. I did not live with courage. However, that’s not to say that I lived with cowardice. I more of lived with vagueness. I’ve always been an individual, but through much of my life it was not loud independence, it was quite quiet. Quiet and awkward. In the summer of my freshman year, after winning

(Most of the workshops were held in the main building.) Upon entering the small conference room, air conditioning streamed towards me and held me in a delightfully freezing embrace. The ceiling was low, the floors wooden or perhaps linoleum made to look wooden. There was a divider that was pushed hastily away like a disregarded accordion. Folded up tables and stacked chairs lined the walls of the small room that absolutely could seem no larger, even if the divider was dividing. I remember there was this massive projector on the ceiling. It must have been from the prehistoric technological age: the 90’s. It was at least three feet crosswise and six inches deep. I marveled in small horror on how it managed to stay there glued to the ceiling. Obviously, I made sure to avoid being under it if ever I could.

When I arrived I was the last one to get there. I joined a whopping three other girls. Our instructor was herself a woman, and it made for interesting skits. Our instructor (gosh if only I could remember her name I would thank her a thousand times over) was small and petite. Her dark hair was drawn up neatly into ponytail, she wore shorts and a teal camisole under a black bolero jacket. She was entirely underwhelmed with her turn out, but we made