You may not be able to handle the cuteness of this post. Just a warning. I. Used to be. So. Cute.
A few years ago, I got a call from my second grade teacher Mrs. Myer. She and I are pictured here:
Anyway, Mrs. Myer was so sweet. She said that she had been saving a little poem that I had written and she wanted me to have it. She was apt to save her students' best work and then return it to them post-high school. Here, for your reading pleasure, is the poem that I wrote when I was seven, cerca 1984/5.
(Either I had or had not heard of iambic pentameter.)
I Wish I had an Animal
|Dreaming of poodles. While cats remain trapped, below.|
His mother said,
Come Pete my son.
Tell me why your eyes are
sad My little one. His father
said, How quiet you are
let me play a tune
on my old guitar.
|Can you see the detail on that "H"? Vines. Like the beginning of all good story books. That guitar is awfully big, BTW. Plus everybody knows guitars have six strings. Idiot.|
First of all, it's interesting that my poem is written from the point of view of my brother, Pete. Maybe I was scared my parents would know that it was ME who really wanted a pet. Better to lay the blame on poor Pete. Second of all, my dad has never and will never "play a tune on my old guitar" because he doesn't play guitar. It's true he might have had a beard, but the T-shirt slogan seems unfair:
Beer is all I dri-
I don't think that's a fair representation of my dad. He was more a Whiskey Sour guy. Also he was never bald.
I want a cat any
or at liest [sic] a frog. please
could I have a frog, or a
dog. or a cat or something
|I remember being kind of proud of being able to draw poodles so well. But what about the back end? Who knows. I like how I decided to scribble out and use "or something like that" later...moments later.|
puppies are neat
they always curl up at my
feet. Raccons [sic] have dark
black masks they scurry
to do their many tasks
they wash their food before
they eat something good
|I realize now as an adult...raccons [sic] eat neither good nor sweet things. They eat mostly garbage.|
Now this is my favorite part. It's all iambicly perfect, rhyme-y, and adorable:
as I said before to you
I want a cat with
one that tries to look her
best that washes
and washes west that
washes north and washes
south with the
washcloth in her mouth
|The tail is a little scary. But that tongue. That washcloth tongue. I think I got the point across. [Annie eyes.]|
and papa if you think I want
a bird I think it is my
prayers you've heard
I'd never turn on
the big T.V. I'd rather
play with a bird in a tree
|If you want to check out this book, it is available. ...Strange. It hasn't been checked out once since 1985? |
Oh, Mi amiga, es su adorable!!!
Wow, what a cool thing for Mrs. Meyer to do: this illustrated poem is SUCH a keeper, for all of the reasons you have outlined.
It might be best not to over-analyze, but I wish to point out that your dad is undoubtedly playing a bass guitar in that picture.
Your art is great for a 6 year-old, you know. Spelling too.
That is hilariously awesome. I want one of those "All I drink is beer." t-shirts.
I picked you out right away..I must be amazing, but not as amazing as your writing abilities at that age!
Love this story. Oh man- the shirt!? "All I drink is beer"!? More like Clamato.
I just stumbled on your blog. And it's so cool that your old teacher gave you that. I really did keep laughing out loud throughout the whole poem, and you comments with it. Thanks for making me smile!
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