So, I've decided to write some of my previous life down here, as a record. You can keep reading, but you've been forewarned. . . this isn't my usual fare.
I guess I'll start by explaining how I grew up--the girl I was when I decided to become a teacher. You see, I was the kind of girl who had most things handed to her in life. Not all things--but most. I wasn't a blonde cheerleader, but I did get my first car when I was fifteen and I did like to get my formal dresses in Houston rather than in town so that other people wouldn't have the same one.
I wasn't one of those ridiculous people you see on My Super Sweet Sixteen, but I was the kind of girl who never loaded a dishwasher, never attended public school, and who had her own platinum card at sixteen. When I was eight, I thought there were three professions: doctor, lawyer, and teacher. When I was thirteen, I had a friend whose family name appears on a common kitchen product and another who had a suite in her house instead of a just a bedroom. I might not have had it all, but I had friends that did.
I spent my weekends jetting here and there in my car. I hung out at my friend's lake houses. My picture was in the social section of the newspaper, but I thought I looked terrible. I planned my spring break in Destin and worried about which color sofee short I should buy to match my bathing suit.
These were my concerns.
I wasn't concerned about school--I was bored by it. I got A's and B's, rarely did my homework, and never, ever studied. I had boys to think about! and Friday night! and prom! Oh how I thought about the prom. I even bought prom magazines, which are actually just big huge advertisements that you pay for--kind of like bridal magazines.
I doodled in my planner and worried about the weekend.
I can promise you I never thought I'd be a teacher--thought I was way too smart for boring job like that.
Shows how much I knew. . .