When I opened my mother's closet this afternoon, I noticed a big box filled with my old trophies. They were covered in dirt, dust and some where broken off from their mountings. I dusted one off and peered at the date. 1st Place Art Competition 1985.
It brought back all of these memories.
I remembered sitting in that big auditorium with other parents and students on a school day evening. I was twisting the awards schedule around in my hands. My feet didn't reach the ground because the chairs were so tall. My legs just dangled. I was wearing thick knitted white stockings that itched terribly, a scratchy plaid skirt, and navy blue Mary Janes. My dirty blond hair was secured in two braids falling over my shoulders.
I hated these award ceremonies. I dreaded the moment when my name was called. Everyone would turn in their seats to look at me. My mother would give me a gentle nudge and have a huge smile. I remember walking down the aisle and stepping up awkwardly onto the stage. The principle handed me the trophy while I was looking down. He turned me towards the audience and everyone politely clapped. Then I rushed back to my seat.
The only reason I participated in the art contests every year was for the new art supplies my mother purchased beforehand. I had to go through that awful ceremony every year until 7th grade.
For a while all the Art trophies were displayed proudly on the mantel place, but they were replaced with Laura, Jay and Amber's trophies in the fields of art, literature, sports and science.
So now my Trophies are in this box. A pile of memories of a time long gone.
I dropped the trophy back down and turned off the closet light.
This house is filled with memories. Some good and some bad. It's always going to be home no matter how far I travel. It's strange to think that in 2 months, I'll be bidding Europe farewell and living here again... but this time with Eric.
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Eric: I loved your E-mail...
