I have very few artifacts from my childhood — a handful of family photos, a half-page “Big Top Revival” newspaper clipping, and a couple of Jesus fans (cardstock images of Christ stapled to tongue depressors, funeral home information printed on the back. How’s that for the power of suggestion?). Otherwise, nada.
I’m not certain how many schools I enrolled in, where they’re located, or when I attended. Part of my research involves piecing it all together. But one thing I now know with a certainty: Permanent Records are a myth. After three to five years, your cumulative files are stripped to bare bones, picked clean of any prose. What’s left? Census data, grades, and test scores — nothing else. No evidence that you were an angel or, for that matter, an incorrigible student. Just the facts, ma’am, and sometimes even those are sorely lacking.
Nevertheless, I now know more about where my father went to school! Even better, I talked to the college representative on Friday, and she offered to send me something fabulous. It will most certainly add an element of irony to my memoir, and a bit of celebrity flair. Maybe I’ll do a little show-and-tell when it arrives. Are you interested?
In other news: I keep having to switch my bracelet from one wrist to the other — so often, in fact, that the weekend went by in a purple blur. Here’s a couple of positive developments: I somehow managed to finish my SisterDivas column five whole days before my deadline, and I’m making good progress in the first week of the Fast Draft project. No comment on the quality (eyes her bracelet), but I’ve written lots of words.
Happy Monday, everyone. Have a memorable week!