Last weekend, we had a family get together at my brother’s house. My parents had found a box of my old school papers, including yearbooks and assignments I brought home. They presented me with this box of memories, and I found proof positive that anyone can become a good writer.
Let’s first take a look at me when I was about nine-years-old, to set expectations appropriately …
The dress I can handle—sort of. You can’t see the wild hair in this reproduction, but ugh. And the workboots? Don’t ask, because I think I blocked it from my memory.
Now, let’s take a look at some of the poems unearthed from my parents’ attic:
The Boy From Denver
There once was a boy from Denver
Who had a crush on Pam Henver
He picked up her math book
She gave him a bad look
And now he likes Dawn Tenver
Or perhaps this little ditty:
The Girl From France
There once was a girl from France
Who always wore jeans and tight pants
She looked at Dan,
And said, “Oh, Man!”
Now she is divorced with Vance
Oh, god, I’m laughing so hard I am having a hard time typing. But wait! It gets worse! And now, drrrruuummm rrrrollllll please, for perhaps the worst poem of all time:
Pictures make you look so weird
They made my brother have a beard
My brother is only eight years old
And all my pictures are covered with mold
When the flash is wrong, your eyes are red
They also kill pesky bugs dead
They killed my favorite spider plant
‘Cause it wasn’t a nasty witches chant
We heard the chant on T.V. last night
And boy! It was really a fright!
I kid you not. Methinks I have just peed in my pants.
So there you go. From the bowels of my professional writing history, I can now firmly say this is proof positive that if you think you write poorly, you are sorely mistaken after reading my early writings. Anything is better than this stuff!
Photo Courtesy of eMomsatHome