At Twenty-seven, Seventeen, Seven: 17

Today is my birthday. A good a time as any to take a trip down memory lane.

When we were kids, my mum had us fill out this book every year.

Since today I turn 27, I decided to see what my answers were at 17 and 7.

At seventeen:

I don't know if I'll ever end up in the academic world again, as a professor, but it could happen. Either way, I did become a writer.

Apparently I wasn't big on explaining myself at 17. Typical.

"My car" was my mother's old seafoam-green Ford Taurus. And my best friend Tommy took the air filter off the engine so that thing was as loud as...a Taurus can get. Lean-ish, mean-ish, green-ish.

This is why I was so perplexed about my seven-year-old "Math & P.E." whizziness.

Yes, I was the radio station manager at my high school. That was a fun job. We’d most just hang out after-hours (my personal show was on Thursday nights from 8 to 10. A little pot smoking, a little rule-breaking, a lot of pure silliness.

Actually, the same could be said of the school paper. We editors would hang out and pull all-nighters at the school to make deadline. People seem to think the nerdy kids are the “good” ones in high school. So very not true, but our reputation with parents was pretty stellar. That’s why were considered smart. We knew how to get away with getting in trouble.

When I was seventeen I published a poem in a little NYC zine called Blind Man’s Rainbow. Obviously, I was quite proud of that.

My senior portrait. I once had long hair. I once wore serious makeup and was the victim of bad retouching.

This answer was pretty much code for "I know my mother is going to read this, and I am sworn to secrecy."

drugs, rock 'n' roll and a photograph of the New Kids on the Block. Sigh. No, not really.

I was oh so modest, even then.

Haven’t seen or heard from Courtenay in years, though she’s married and lives in Colorado. I do see Tommy from time to time. Unfortunately, neither one looks like those brilliant kids in the drawing.


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