Dear Sig: The Saga Continues

When last we left the saga, Cleveland's lake effect snow had failed to providentially strand my fourth grade crush, Sig, at my house mid-blizzard. (Thanks for nothing, Lake Erie.) I was 99% sure that Sig was into me, because sometimes he would, like, look at me in class. The problem: He also tended to gaze at my friend Jessica. Another problem: Jessica liked him too. And also: Jessica was, oh, only the most lusted-after girl in school.

So we did what any girls in our situation would do: We wrote Sig a letter telling him we liked him. Both of us. Me and my infinitely more alluring romantic rival. Together. Because I was a genius. And then we were like, "Which one of us you do like—that is, like like—more? OUT WITH IT, MAN!"

But Sig was not playing our game. He wrote back saying that we were both pretty (wooooooo!), and that he liked BOTH of us and couldn't decide. Which was a) totally baffling (really? he didn't like Jessica more? JESSICA??) and b) totally frustrating.

It also meant that the letters continued. Because Jessica may have been a gajillion times more popular with the boyfolk, but I could surely win him over with my... erm... heart-shaped stationery? The following letter was typed (how casual!) on paper that looked like this:

Raise your hand if you're embarrassed already.

Pre-letter disclaimer: Obviously I never sent this to him, because I still have it in my possession. What I don't know is whether or not I mailed off a later draft. Please, God, I pray that I did not.

July 15, 1988

Dear Sig,

Tomorrow I'm going on vacation. We're going to (in order) Brockport (to see my friends Brendan and Caitlin), Canada (to camp), Gasport (to see my cousins, Bonnie and Jimmy), and Lockport (to see my cousins, Stephanie and the twins, Steven and Michael).*

*The "ports" are in New York.

Yes, my letter included a footnote. Did I know how to woo a 10-year-old boy or WHAT? Oh, and a previous letter must have suggested a picture exchange, because after the really thrilling description of my upcoming trip, I launch into this:

Oh, I don't have any decent pictures to send you right now. I'm going to try and get my mom to take some acceptable ones while we're away.

Er, like this one?

There is absolutely nothing acceptable about those bangs.

Oh, I'm sorry, did I forget to mention that this was the Worst Cut Era? Yeah. You know how people sometimes refer to giant '80s bangs as "The Claw"? Mine were more along the lines of "Satan's Gimpy, Gnarled Hand." So I had that going for me. But wait! There's more!

My boyfriend thinks I looked like one of the Ramones.
Every young girl's dream!

Oh yeah, these pictures were going to make him forget allllll about Jessica. Also, notice how I'm close-lipped in all of the shots? That's because I'd recently acquired a mouthful of metal. Hot, right? Jessica WHO??

Are you going to send yours? The three of us, you know, you, me, Jessica, should all get together soon and talk.

I'm sure Sig was just counting down the days until he could be hounded about this in person instead of via the USPS.

Have you told anyone about this? Well, Jess and I told Katie, the three of us are best friends. I doubt there's anything left to say.

Good instinct, Sada! Keep it short and sweet. The less you say, the less likely you are to utterly humiliate yourself. Just sign your name and we'll—oh CRAP—

Well, I just wish you'd like me more than Jessica. Everyone likes Jessica. The boys, I mean. When they look at me they say, "Ew, gross, contact" or something similar.

"Contact" was something that you would say to protect yourself against the germs of unpopularity. Like, say someone's hand accidentally brushed against [Insert name of unpopular child] while waiting in line for the slide; that person would then have the [Name of unpopular kid] Touch, and would have to rid him or herself of said Touch by thrusting it upon an unsuspecting victim. The ONLY WAY to avoid getting The Touch was to yell, "Contact!" or, if you were feeling charitable, "Contact! Detours! Force field!" If I remember correctly, this was a more powerful form of Contact that would also protect any friends in your immediate vicinity.

So, to sum up: Everyone with a wang lurves Jessica, and they find me so repellent that they must verbally arm themselves against my cooties. Just, like, in case you forgot, Sig! (You guys, I don't even know. Was I going for the PITY LIKE? Oh, the shame.)

It's nice to know that someone, besides my family and friends thinks I'm pretty.

Because—news flash!—boys think I am The Ug.

I think you're cute. Us girls call boys "cute" if they look good.

Good thing I let him in on that big secret! Jessica recently reminded me of a later incident in which we were walking to her house and Sig had joined us (hi, he obvs liked us!), and we started telling him how comely he was.

comely adj. Vocabulary word courtesy of Judy Blume. According to Rachel Robinson, it means "attractive . . . good looking . . . cute . . ."

Shockingly, Sig managed to glean the meaning from context. The context being along the lines of "Oh, Sig, you are soooooooOOOOOOOoooooooo COMELY!"

And then I ended the letter with:

L*O*V*E,
S*A*D*A

L*O*V*E? I'll tell you what I loved: asterisks. Sweet Jesus.

P.S. WRITE BACK SOON

P.P.S. If you get a letter from Rachel, don't write her back.

Because no letter is complete without a dig at Rachel! I think that ultimately only a couple of letters were exchanged (I don't see why Sig wouldn't have written back ASAP!), but I do remember that he gave both Jessica and I pink-and-purple friendship bracelets that he made for us. (ZOMG, a boy made me something! This was almost as cool as being in a skateboard gang!!)

I didn't keep a diary in fifth grade, but there's a mention in my school journal about Sig and his puppy stopping by Jessica's house while I was over (me: apparently unfazed that he was randomly stopping by Jessica's? or did we invite him?). That year Sig played the lead in our school play, The Emperor's New Clothes. Of course, he wasn't actually NAKED, but we had to pretend that he was. You can imagine the maniacal giggling that occurred.

And I would insist on going to Family Skate at the ice rink every freaking week because Sig went too and sometimes he would skate with me for a bit (woooooooo! again). The most dramatic Family Skate event involved my friend Casey, who broke her leg while skating with me and had to be carried off the ice by Sig's dad—oh, the mortification! Afterward Sig skated up to me and said, "The bigger they are, the harder they fall, huh?" I still don't know what he meant by that. In hindsight, I think he was just trying to make conversation, but in the moment, I was infuriated that he dare cast aspersions on my injured friend, and I came back with this incredibly witty rejoinder: "Well, I guess Casey must have a really big LEG then!!!" Um... ? What does that even MEAN?? (I don't know, but I was definitely mad at him for, like, at least two days.)

I do have some dishy materials from a sleepover with Katie. First of all, we rated ten of the boys in our class (as preteen girls are wont to do) on a scale of 1–10. I rated Sig the highest with a 9½; the baby-faced new boy Aaron, who lived a few doors down from Sig, a 7; and the remaining boys in the 2 to 6 range. Harsh! Katie, meanwhile, gave Sig a 10, when she supposedly liked Nathan—whom she only rated a 9! WTF, Katie?!

Also, to answer your question: YES, for some reason I have kept a copy of fifth grade boy ratings for TWENTY YEARS. There's obviously something wrong with me. But! Below the Boy Ratings, there's a list of the following:

People (or things) that go together in our grade:

1. Rebecca and Nathan
2. Sig and Jessica
3. Katie and Chuck [Chuck was the "hot stable boy" where Katie rode horses. Except for the part where he didn't actually exist. We started to get suspicious when we realized his letters were all written in Katie's handwriting.]
4. Rachel and Yoav
5. Michael and Laura [crossed out, I suppose, after they "broke up"]

But yes, did you see #2? It's true. The inevitable happened: Sig asked Jessica to "go with him." I was crushed. (Actually, I was home sick that day, and I don't really remember what happened. But I'm sure I was crushed.) And my family had just moved onto his very street! But, oh, what did it matter now?

I tried briefly to focus my attentions on Aaron, the new boy, despite the fact that he was only a 7. And by "focus my attentions" I mean "fantasize that I might lure him to my house to play a few rounds on our awesome new mini-pinball machine." But then all the other girls decided they liked Aaron too (one friend even puffy-painted "I ♥ Aaron" on her socks, so you know she meant business), so I was like, screw this. Plus, living on Sig's street meant that sometimes he would bike past my house. Like, while Bon Jovi was poignantly singing "I'll Be There for You" in the background. I swear to you.

So, he may have picked Jessica, but whatever—this shit was clearly meant to be. I knew it; Jon Bon Jovi knew it; and in his heart, I believed Sig knew it too. On the other side of the "Boy Ratings" paper is a list entitled "Who Boys Like," and you know who's listed under Sig? That's right: Jessica and Sada. I was keeping the dream alive, you guys. KEEPING THE DREAM ALIVE.

The saga? To Be Continued...

Also, in my dedication to embarrassing myself as much as humanly possible (and because, hey, I wondered what he was up to), I did it: I TRACKED SIG DOWN. And I sent him a link to The Sig Saga. Oh yeah I did. However, because he has the memory of a normal person instead of, like, a freaky computer elephant (ahem), he didn't recall too many of the specifics. He did say: "Offhand what I remember is having to deal with the barrage of notes and letters and phone calls from you girls when all I really wanted to do was jump my bike off the curb or play street hockey." Which... yep. That sounds about right.

One of the best parts, though, is how I finally found him: through my third grade crush, Andrew. That's right, people. I've been e-mailing all the boys I had the hots for in elementary school. I even confessed my crush-of-old to Andrew (he was not, I'm pleased to report, the recipient of any third grade letters) and he wrote back that he had a crush on—I am not even making this up!—JESSICA. Of course he did.

NEXT TIME: A rare look into the mind of the fifth grade boy! My brother proves that snarkiness runs in the family.

P.S. Longer Letter Later

In fifth grade, my friends and I had many activities we enjoyed doing together: rating the boys in our class on various predetermined qualities; singing along to Paula Abdul; eating Cool Ranch Doritos; choreographing elaborate dance routines to the Dirty Dancing soundtrack; and, of course, creating fictional characters who would then engage in epistolary feuds. The former is what we'll be covering here.

I had tried coauthoring a book before with my friends Katie and Jessica. The plan was that each of us would write a paragraph, then hand it off to the next person. The problem? We never made it to page two. We did, however, write some preadolescent promo material:

LIFE ISN'T FAIR
Courtney used to think her life was great. She isn't popular and she isn't a total dweeb. Her and her best friend, Teri, have it made. And Courtney's boyfriend is the most popular boy in school. Then Courtney's parents are having a baby, and Courtney eavesdrops and discovers the fact that she's adopted and she knows that her parents don't want her. When her boyfriend dumps her, that's when she decides that life isn't fair. So she [wait for it...] runs away.

Of course she does! By the way, I think we may need to resurrect the word "dweeb."

For our next cowritten venture, Katie and I decided to simplify things. Our book would be a series of letters written by two friends who were having a much more interesting summer than we were. Plus, this would give us an excuse to utilize a four-color pen (Katie) and dot our i's with hearts (me).


But first we had to jot down a list of our respective four-color pen pals' vital statistics and favorite T.V. shows—this allowed us to make extraneous pop culture references and concoct zany hobbies that no real-life fifth grader would ever admit to being interested in. My character, Andrea Forleene, loved goats and Corey Haim.

Full name: Andrea Heather Forleene
D.O.B.: October 4, 1977
Sex: Female
Fav. Food: Chocolate cigars

Because everyone knows chocolate tastes better when it's shaped like a phallus. Mmm!

Fav. Colors: Black and hot pink

Fav. T.V. show: The Wonder Years
Fav. Animal: Goat
Fav. Song: I Saw Him Standing There Only In My Dreams
Fav. Actor: Cory Haim
Fav. Actress: Kristy Swanson

I was very impressed with her performance in Flowers in the Attic. And that movie where she narrowly escapes death by becoming a killer robot.

Fav. Singer(s): Debbie Gibson
Fav. Movie: Three Men And A Baby

Remember those rumors about how there was a ghost of a little boy in Three Men and a Baby—but it turned out some sloppy crew member just left a cardboard cutout of Ted Danson wearing a top hat and tuxedo in the scene? Lame!

Worst urban legend ever. It should at least be the ghost of Guttenberg!

Height: 4'8"

Weight: 79½
Family: dad - Christopher (41), mom - Stephanie (39), sister - Christina (16), sister - Brittany (14½), brother - Sean (12½), and me!! Andrea (10½)
Fav. Sport: Kickball
Hair Color: Brown wavy, shoulder-length
Eye Color: Brown

Are you ready for the hobbies? This is when we get into WTF territory.

Hobbies: Writing Letters, Singing, Riding Trains, Collecting fake flowers, making pyramids out of old pop cans, recycling, eating chocolate, collecting flashlights, wearing tons of jewelry, making my family members pissed.

Making pyramids out of old pop cans? Seriously? That's how Andrea spends her time? And I thought the flashlight collection was so genius, I actually reused it in another story. !!! Or perhaps you could say I "recycled" it, because recycling is one of my hobbies. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to catch a train to the fake flower shop. Right after I tell off my mom.

Katie's character was Leslie Nettles, a creative speller who belonged to organizations with unwieldy acronyms for names.

Full Name: Leslie Elizabeth Nettles
D.O.B.: July 7, 1977
Sex: Female
Favorite Food: Corean Chiken Balls

Neither Katie nor I had ever eaten a Korean chicken ball, but we HAD seen the movie Hello Again, starring Shelley Long as a woman who chokes to death on a Korean chicken ball only to be magically raised from the grave one year later by her woo-woo sister, Zelda. Unfortunately, Shelley Long does not come back as a zombie, but she does end up making out with Gabriel Byrne, so I guess that's cool too.

Favorite Color: Peach
Favorite T.V. Show: Miami Vice
Favorite Animal: Saint Bernardo

Saint Bernardo?

Do you get it? Do you get it?

You might if you realize that's Bernardo from West Side Story, and that's he's wearing a shoddily drawn halo. (Crap, jokes aren't funny if you have to explain them, are they?)

Favorite Song: Pour Some Sugar on Me
Favorite Singer(s): Def Leppard
Favorite Movie: [Blank]
Hieght: [Blank]
Wieght: [Blank]
Family Members: Mom: Frances (38), Dad Francis (39), Maria (7), Sandra (16), Marx (16), Alan (13)

We thought it would be beyond hilarious to have two parents with the same name. In retrospect, I think it would be better if their last name was Francis too. Also, MARX? What do we think? Are Frances and Francis commie pinkos or Marx Brothers fans? Or both?

Favorite Sport: Horse Back Riding, Water Skiing
Hair: Red
Eyes: Green
Hobbies: Basket Ball, Dancing, Acting, Bug Collecting, Pillow Case Collecting, Cooking, A.C.A.O.A.F.G.W., making my sister jealous, Water Skiing, Horse Back Riding, Listening to the OLDIES [do you think she sweats to them as well?], collecting podel skirts (Todd)

I know what you're thinking—that is, after you've gotten past the pillow case collection and the podel skirts (Todd, by the way, is not the name of one of the podels; he's Leslie's love interest, as you'll see shortly). What you're wondering is "What the hell is the A.C.A.O.A.F.G.W.?" The disturbing part is that IT DIDN'T TAKE ME THAT LONG TO FIGURE IT OUT. I'm pretty sure Leslie belongs to the Anti-Chauvinist Association of America for Girls and Women. And the protagonist from Life Isn't Fair was also a member! [Courtney Allison Sett also had a pet iguana named Igor (who she would totally fall for if she were an iguana!), her boyfriend was a georgiouse skater, and she had a weird habit of stating facts about herself aloud.] I'm not exactly sure what the A.C.A.O.A.F.G.W. did at their meetings, but I suspect it may have involved comparing men to farm animals.

Katie started off the letter writing. Her character had way more exciting vacation plans than mine did.

Dear Andrea,

Hi, how are you? I'm fine! How do you like being with your cousins all of the time? It gets really hot down here. You know Australia always get to be 90° everyday? Well, it's true! I miss my dog Duchess sooooooo much! Do you miss your house?

My grandparents, well, really my grandma can be such a NAG, with a capital N! There's one kangaroo who is hurt and is really tame who eats out of my hand. COOL, huh? I bet you could never get an animal to eat out of your hands!

Well, gotta go!

Chow-Chow, Taa

Your Friend
Leslie E. Nettles

Hello, and welcome to the portion of our story entitled Awesomely True Facts About Australia! As you probably know, the seasons Down Under are opposite those of the U.S. So when we are experiencing summer here, in Australia it's wintertime. What you may not know is that IT DOESN'T EVEN MATTER, because it's always 90° in Australia, every single day! It's also a little-known fact that all Ozzies have wild kangaroos in their backyards. Kangaroos are kind of like the raccoons of Australia. Except they don't have opposable thumbs. And they like to be stroked when injured.

DearTO: Leslie Elizabeth Nettles,

For your information, ELIZABETH, my Aunt & Uncle and cousins live on a farm (SORT OF) here in Vermont. SO animals like goats and stuff eat RIGHT out of my hands. SO THERE! So chow yourself out!

Andrea Heather Forleene

P.S. Your grandma's right to NAG you!

In patented Sada style, my character goes totally frigging psycho after the smallest provocation. Also, I think there was some (unwritten) backstory about how Leslie hated her middle name, hence Andrea referring to her as Elizabeth in CRAZY CAPS™. However, I do enjoy "Chow yourself out!" as an insult. I like to think of it as a less-sophisticated version of "Why don't you take a long walk off a short pier?"—except I think it might involve overindulgence at the Old Country Buffet.

Dear Andrea,

Listen, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to be a brat but I was just sooooo excited about the KANGAROO eating out of my hand. By the way, my grandmother does NOT have the right to nag me.

In your next letter, I hope you aren't mad at me! Gueese what? I met this really neat boy/guy? named Todd. He's got brown hair and green eyes! His grandmother lives down here too. He seems like he's pretty smart but I don't know.

Write Back Soon!

Chow-Chow, Taa

Your Friend,
Leslie E. Nettles

Well, I'm not surprised she doesn't know if Todd's smart. She can't even tell if he's a boy/guy!

Dear Leslie Patricia, [Because Patricia is a waaaay hipper name that Elizabeth.]

Well O.K. you're forgiven, just don't act so conceited! O.K. I guess you can't help it. [Ooh, BURN!] Tell me more about TODD! He sounds SUPER GREAT! No boys around here except for my dad, Sean, and my cousins Danny (10) and Aaron (5). Danny has a crush on me! MY OWN FLESH AND BLOOD. Isn't that sick? I hope the KANGAROO feels better. O.K. so my other cousin is a girl and her name is Allison and she's 12 and we call her Allie.

Your friend, Andi

P.S. Write back soon.

Thankfully, all those Flowers in the Attic viewings haven't warp Andrea's ideas about what activities are appropriate to engage in with your own flesh and blood.

Dear Andrea,

Hi! Listen, I don't think Andi is such a good name, I mean it's just really not your style! Really, who gave you that name? Any way if you like it, Andi.

Sooo, you want to know more about MY Todd? ["MY" is actually underlined three times in three different colors, but I could only use one here.] You're probably thinking: "her Todd," huh? Well, he asked me to go to the BEACH with him! ALONE! Without any adults! COOL!

It really is gross about Danny! Listen is he cute? How's your aunt? My grandma is just great. Oh, my grandpa caught a 27 bl. fish. Gotta go

Chow-Chow, Taa
Your Friend,
Leslie, (Lesi)

More Awesomely True Facts About Australia: They don't actually use the metric system there. Instead, they use an obscure version the United States customary system in which everything is spelled backwards. That fish weighed 27 sdnuop!

Also, I'm not going to make a joke about Leslie's new nickname and Todd's questionable gender. I AM TAKING THE HIGH ROAD.

Dear Les,

Well, I don't think Lesi is the name for you. Les and Lesli would be O.K. I can't believe you asked if Danny was cute! I mean, he's only a child, besides you have "your Todd" remember. Anyway, O.K., what did you DO at the beach and I'm not being gross, Les. My cousin Allie is really cool and really nice! She took me to the mall yesterday and I got you a present. Wait and see what it is.

Your friend,
Hillary Diana

P.S. I'm changing my name to Hillary, OK?

If you've been paying attention, you may have noted that Andrea's wantin'-to-be-kissin' cousin is only six months younger than she is. An infant, clearly.

Dear Hillary,

You know I like that name! I think I'd like to meet Allie! She sounds cool! When I come back you have to take me to Vermont! Anyway, you have a sick mind! Todd and I went on a walk along the beach and then we went for a soda. Cool, huh!? Your right though, it was gross asking about Danny! I found out something you might be interested in! Todd has got a brother, TWin brother!

Write Soon

Chow-Chow, Taa

Lesli!

Nothing like a walk on the beach in winter. Good thing Australia is 90° year-round! I must say, though, I have my doubts about this intercontinental blind date scheme.

Dear Lesli,

You are right! Allie is cool! What's Todd's brother's name? And I don't have a sick mind!!! By the way, did you share a soda!?! O.K. I was only joking, Les. So when's the wedding? O.K. No more. I stopped. Allie is really nice! We went to the movies and she introduced me to Jeremy, this super-great seventh grader! My new name is Diane. Do you like that name? There are so many names. I hate the name "Andrea"!

Your friend,

Di

I don't know why I had all these characters who were dissatisfied with their names. I've always been kind of fond of mine. I do, however, remember constantly coming up with nicknames for myself (for example, Biff) that never, ever stuck. I can't imagine why.

Dear Di,

I've got a new image! I've got a totally COOL new wardrobe. Todd has this cousin, Glory, who is really cool and she went shopping with me! I got a cool pink skirt with a yellow shirt. So COOL! Todd and I went to the movies and he, well, he sort of, well..., he, uh, he KISSED ME! Uggg! asked me to go to a party with him. Glory helped me pick out this cool dress too! It's just so cool! Oh, yeah, Brian, well, he wants to meet you! But, it's going to be sort of hard for you to meet, but I gave him your address!

Chow-Chow, Taa

Lesli!

And that's it. I mean, if Katie was going to RENEGE ON THE KISSING (the hell?!), where was this story going to go? Plus, she totally stole my getting-made-over-by-a-cool-cousin plotline. Godammit! How was I ever going to top the pink skirt and yellow shirt combo??? She set the coolness bar way too high.

NEXT TIME: Fifth grade book reports, a.k.a. an excuse for 11-year-old me to write some pretty terrible jacket copy.

Until then... Chow-Chow, Taa!

That's Me!

In fifth grade, we had a class assignment to write our autobiography. This should have been a piece of cake for me. I mean, I wrote at home all the time... FOR FUN. But? Those were stories about punk rock Valley girls! Runaway cult members! Girls who dressed up like hookers for Halloween and wired the insides of trees in their spare time! In other words, people with much more interesting lives than mine. What did I have to offer the world? Let's see...

In my first attempt, I took a straightforward approach:

I was born on June 24, 1977. It was dinnertime. I was named Sada Rose. Sada after Sada Thompson an actress on the T.V. show, FAMILY. Rose after my grandmother's maiden name. I was Halle and Charles's first child, their first little girl. I was born at home in Buffalo, New York.

Blah blah freakin' blah. Where was the DRAMA? The biker gangs? The secret passages? The Wheel of Fortune wins? I quickly jotted down the most important points to cover in my 11 years of existence:

Born
Genie born
Will born
Pets
Friends
Houses
Family
School
Fights
Vacations
Getting Hurt Badly
Interesting things

Could this work? Could I pull it off and transform myself into a fascinating protagonist?

Well, apparently not. Instead I decided to go in the complete opposite direction, by insisting to the reader that I was BORING AS ALL GET-OUT. Here's how I began Draft #2:

I HAVE A BORING LIFE

I HAVE A BORING LIFE
I HAVE A

My mother says I don't have a boring life. My grandmother says I don't have a boring life. My father says I don't have a boring life.

I HAVE A BORING LIFE.

As you can see, I was keeping expectations low. EXTREMELY LOW.

I was born, naturally, but that's boring. EVERYONE was born. I was born at home.

When I was a baby, I went to King's Island. I met ______________. But I don't remember. That's boring to me.

You know who the blank is? MUHAMMAD ALI! Totally not boring! When I was six months old, my mom and I happened upon him while flying out of NYC, and he not only held me, he even kissed me! And I cried. And my mom didn't take a single photo, a fact over which she should still be kicking herself. That could have MADE this autobiography.

When I was a baby, I went to the Virgin Islands. WOW. WHERE ARE THE VIRGIN ISLANDS?

Not only was I boring, I also lacked basic geography skills. Or looking-at-a-map skills. Or asking-my-parents skills.

But, man, I was onto something with this "boring" theme! It was time to set to work on the final draft. Here's what I turned in to my teacher (photos and all).

THAT'S ME!

This book is dedicated to:
my parents
because without their help I never
would have had this life

Bow chicka wow wow! On the other hand, that could be translated as "Without you two I never would have had such a BORING life!"

Since I think I have a boring life, the most exciting way to write this story would be to tell you everyone's suggestions...and things I remember.

SPOILER: That might, in fact, be the LEAST exciting way to write this story.


You guys, I loved this pile of dirt. LOVED IT. In fact, check out this other photo (not part of the book, but included here for your viewing enjoyment), where I'm all, "Holy God! This is the best pile of dirt EVER!":

DIRT RULES!

"I have a boring life." I exclaimed. I had just walked into my little brother's room. It was the week-end and the morning.

I was right! This is boring already!

My mom tried to be helpful. "When you were little you used to lay down and suck your fingers to go to sleep." she said.

And then there's a photo of... me sitting on a stoop with some disembodied legs?

The caption for this one reads "Me (notice the slippers)." I have no idea why. Of much greater interest is my MAINE POTATOES shirt, because my family calls me Sada Potato. For those of you who don't know me, that rhymes.

"What about me?" asked my little brother, Will. He won't be left out of a conversation.

"Well," said mom. "You used to call Josh:Dosh, Sada:Ada, and Genie:Nenie."

Will laughed into his pillow.

"And Genie used to call American Cheese: AMERICACHINO." added mom.

More hysterical laughter from Will.

I rolled my eyes.


My sister had a Groucho Marx mask that she bafflingly referred to as her "Philip Face." Here I model the mind-blowing Philip Face and peach leotard combo. Hipsters, you might want to be writing this down.

"I have a boring life." I said to my grandma.

"A BORING LIFE." cried Grandma. "I think you have one of the most exciting lives of any 11-year-old."

She went on to make suggestions:

Me wearing my Santa pajamas.

"You traveled to the Virgin Islands when you were a baby. How many people do you think have done that?" questioned Grandma.

"I don't remember." I said.

"You've seen your brother and sister being born." continued Grandma.

"I don't remember Genie." I told her. (Genie is my little sister, of course.)

My siblings and I were all born at home (a detail that I clearly had to leave out, lest I make this autobiography slightly interesting), and I was present at their births. But whatever. The miracle of life? BORING.

Me and dad on the boat, cruising the Carribean

I neglected to mention that we stayed on a houseboat in the Virgin Islands. I know, right? Being on a boat? TOTALLY BORING.

I remember stories my mom told me like the time I was in my crib.

I was supposed to be taking a nap. I saw our neighbor and I started to wave and call, "JULIE. JULIE." Then, I fell out of my crib and out of the window.

YES! Finally we get to some good stuff, i.e., Getting Hurt Badly by Falling Out of a Window! Well, except for this:

OOOOOOOOOOOOPPPPPPPPPPSSSSSSSS.....

My mom just came in and told me I fell out of the crib (I'd been leaning out of the window) and smacked my head really badly on the hardwood floor.

That was the end of the crib.

...And the end of this story, which was way better when I thought I fell out of the window. Falling on the floor? BORING!

Me doing "exercises"

Please note the Super '70s playpen and the sock monkeys strewn willy-nilly.

When I was little my feet used to point in so, I wore a brace (on my feet) that kept them out. My mom's friend, Maura says I used to walk around with it on my feet.

Me and the brace (I used to make that face all the time)

Yes, everyone, I was dropped on the head AND I was pigeon-toed. You want to make fun? Just try it! I know Muhammad Ali!

Well, back to Will's room.

I was asking my mom about when I was in the hospital.

"Well," she began. "You were yellow."

"Yellow?" I repeated.

"Yellow." she said.

The first photo in the infamous "Eating Sand" series...

"And," she continued. "We took you to the hospital. Your blood was different than mine. So, they poked and prodded you and gave you blood transfusions and all that." She went on and on and on and on and on..........

In other words: BORING! I mean, my body was just REJECTING MY BLOOD. No big whoop.

I could tell funny, interesting, exciting stories about my brother or sister.

BUT NOT ME.

So that's my boring life.

What do you think?

My teacher's comments?

Excellent! You did a wonderful job on this aubobiography Sada!

I am not kidding. It definitely says "aubobiography." Which probably explains a lot.

NEXT TIME: Fifth graders cannot keep their stinkin' traps shut in THE BIG SECRET.

A Summer of Swimming, Fun, and Boys

Before we get into my sequel, I need to take a minute to discuss Is There Life After Boys?, the sequel to We Hate Everything But Boys.

This book is actually less about eating ice cream with boys (check out the dude with the feathered hair!) than it is about growing apart from old friends. And aside from having the word "Boys" in the title, it has nothing to do with my book—but I happened to find a copy of it at Goodwill over the weekend, so I just reread it. And I have to clear the air. You may recall that I had strong memories of one of the 12-year-old girls in this book getting "felt up." I am simultaneously ashamed and relieved to report that this does not happen. So I've either been confusing it lo these many years with some other book with a getting-to-second-base plotline (entirely possible) or else I just fabricated the whole scenario. Which has me a bit worried. At any rate, I do not want to spread rumors about Darlene. She may have grown a rack earlier than the other girls, but that doesn't mean she lets the boys touch it.

Onward now to my sequel, which—I'm gonna tell it to you straight—is kind of a letdown. There are none of the runaways, broken limbs, or tween prostitutes we've come to expect. Granted, it quite possibly would have become amazing had I given it the time to develop (with "Swimming" in the title, I think a near-drowning is pretty much obligatory, don't you?) , but I had moved on to bigger and better books before it had the chance. But can we just jump ahead and ignore the further adventures of Maggie and friends? Nay, I say. NAY.

A SUMMER OF SWIMMING, FUN, AND BOYS

My name is Sherry Marks. I'm about to tell you about one summer I'll never forget.

My friends, Sam(antha) Trainline, Kelly Martison, and Maggie Kertz, and I started a club called, WE CAN LIVE WITHOUT BOYS. We had to change it when Kelly started going with this guy, Brian. So it turned into, WE CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT BOYS.

Well, I got home from Brian's end of the year party. I was excited because all 4 of us had gotten our first kisses that night.

So, like a good season premiere episode on TV, this book picks up right where the last one left off. Only this time we're treated to the POV of Sherry. Is she as obnoxious as Maggie? Is such a thing even possible? I'll let you be the judge.

"Sherry," called my mom. "Come here." I slowly strolled into the living room. Did I look like I'd just been kissed? I hope not.

Ummm... not unless you have a hickey or something. Which, seriously, I don't even want to imagine a fourth grader with a hickey... and now I just did. Bleeeeccchhhh.

"Your grandpa in New York just had a heart attack." my mom said solemnly.

"You mean dad's dad?" I asked.

She nodded. "He just left a few minutes ago."

"This," I said. "Is going to ruin our vacation plans."

Yes, he knew you were planning on going to Disney World, so he clogged his arteries ON PURPOSE just to spite you, Sherry! Mua ah ah ah ah! (If, you know, it's possible for one to muster up evil laughter whilst in the ICU.)

"We've changed them. Go pack. We're leaving for New York tomorrow morning after breakfast." replied my mother.

"Watch out, New York. Cause here we come." said my 8-year-old sister, Dia.

This is the kind of sassy dialogue I would hear on TV and then try to incorporate into my everyday vernacular with less-than-stellar results.

"This ought to be good." I said to Dia. We were packing. I was helping her and she was helping me.

"What do you mean?" Dia asked me.

"What I mean is, we're ruining a perfectly good vacation to take care of a half-dead grandfather we don't even know."

Mua ah ah... wheeze.

"You always look at things so negatively." Dia told me. Negative was one of her last vocabulary words. "Think positive." Another vocabulary word.

"You're right." I said. "He's probably fully dead by now."

You guys, it's not that Sherry's lacking in compassion, it's just that they don't know him. So you can see why they wish their dad's father would just hurry up and DIE already so they can hit up some Space Mountain and chillax with adults dressed like cartoon characters. (Confession: I've never actually been to Disney World, so all of my Disney information comes from the first BSC Super Special.)

"We're staying at your cousin's house. You know, the Fletcher's." mom said. We had just gotten on the road.

"Are the Fletcher's the ones with the family of frogs?" asked Dia.

"No." answered my mother. "The Fletchers don't have frogs."

"Then what do they got?" Dia wanted to know.

"Have." corrected mom. "They're the ones we didn't visit last year."

"Oh no." I groaned. "Not the ones with the 5 boys."

"Yea." she said. "The ones with the 5 boys."

Wait, wait, wait—the titular "boys" are her COUSINS? I feel cheated! And when is the "fun" going to kick in? So far it's more like a summer of cousins, whining, and palliative care.

I started to write a letter to Maggie:

Dear Maggie,

You wouldn't believe it. We're staying at my cousin's. Those cousins are 5 boys. UGH. There names are Adam, Ben(jamin), Chuckie, Don(ald), and Ernie. Write and see if I survive.

Half-dead but still trying,
S*H*E*R*R*Y

I also made a chart that looked like this:

name
age
Adam
12
Ben
10
Sherry
10
Chuckie
8
Dia
8
Don
6
Ernie
4

I really loved a good chart. There are MANY later books that have charts... but often no actual narration. When you already know everyone's names and ages, who needs it?

Great, I thought. I'm closest in age to Ben. Dia's with Chuckie. It's unbelievable that the 5 boys are each 2 years apart. I also think it's dumb to name them in alphabetical order.

It's too bad Sherry doesn't have an opinion!

A letter to Sam:

Dear Sam,

How's California? Guess what, I'm stuck in New York with 5 boy cousins. GRODY. Ben is 10, like me. Chuckie is 8, like Dia. I'll keep you up-to-date.

Slowly Dying,
S*H*E*R*R*Y

Spending the summer with five boys is obviously a fate worse than death. Also, I like how all of the club members' families left on their vacations the absolute SECOND that school let out. Do you think Sam has gotten Kirk Cameron's autograph yet???

"We're there." shouted mom, pulling into a driveway.

"A pool." shrieked Dia.

"Wow." I said. I sniffed. Sure enough, Dia's ultra-sensitive nose had picked up the chlorine scent.

"Joy, Luke," called mom. "We're here."

Two little boys burst through the front door.

"My name," said the taller one, "Is Don. This is Ernie." He pointed to the other boy.

"I'm Dia. That's Sherry. I smell your pool."

Why does that sound like a euphemism for something dirty?

Just then the 3 other boys came out.

"I'm Adam." We shook hands.

Cousins: kind of like business associates.

"I'm Chuck....ie." We nodded.

"I'm Ben. Wanna go for a dip?" We jumped into the pool.

I loved that beautiful feeling of the cool water covering my body. Their pool had a diving board and a slide. I couldn't believe that, Ernie, 4 years old, could do perfect backward dives. It was amazing.

Okay, at least the swimming part wasn't a lie.

"Get out of that water." shrieked Aunt Joy. At that, my mom ran off the porch from talking to Uncle Dave. [Um, wasn't his name Luke, like, a second ago?] "Children these days," continued Aunt Joy. That's when Uncle Dave strolled over. "You'd think they'd have enough sense to.... well enough decentcy to..... not jump into pools with their clothes on." Aunt Joy finally finished.

"My god..." gasped mom. WHY? Then I realized why. Dia and I were wearing our brand-new outfits she bought us. "Ooooooops." I muttered.

Dia clamped her hand over her mouth.

Jumping into a pool while fully clothed? That was the highest drama I could come up with? This sucker was doomed from the start.

The 3 older boys put on innocent faces. Don picked the toe-jam from between his toes. [Uh, GRODY!] Ernie sucked his thumb.

Not such a hot first day, huh?

A letter to Kelly:

K&E&L&L&Y:

you lucky, lucky ducky
you've gone to Connecticutty
while I'm stuck in New York (not the city)
with 5 boys
instead of Florida
playing with toys in Disney World

help me,
S*H*E*R*R*Y

And that's it. After Sherry wrote the same letter for the third time (with half-assed limerickish flair this go-round), I gave up on this crap. I actually thought so little of this sequel that it didn't even get its own manila folder! That speaks volumes, no?

NEXT TIME: My obsession with detective work leads me to write the world's most unmysterious mystery.

Runaways, dogs, and crippled children—oh my!

That's right, it's book report time! As I've said before, I devoured books as a child. This is just a sampling of what I had on my plate in fourth grade.

Book Report #1
The assignment: A picture and a paragraph about my favorite character
Title: From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler
Author: E. L. Konigsburg
Type: Newbery Award

I think someday I'd like to have lunch with the Newbery Committee or something. I seriously still love this book:




For the insane few of you who have never read it, here's the back cover spiel:

When Claudia decided to run away, she planned very carefully. She would be gone just long enough to teach her parents a lesson in Claudia appreciation. And she would live in comfort—at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. She invited her brother Jamie to go, too, mostly because he was a miser and would have money.

The two took up residence in the museum right on schedule. But once the fun of settling in was over, Claudia had two unexpected problems: she felt just the same, and she wanted to feel different; and she found a statue at the museum so beautiful she could not go home until she had discovered its maker, a question that baffled even the experts. The former owner of the statue was Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler. And without her help Claudia might never have found a way to go home.

If you think the copywriter got a little dramatic at the end, well, let me assure you, they had nothing on 10-year-old me. But first things first: My favorite character was Claudia, obviously. (No offense to Jamie, but draw a picture of a BOY? It would have to be a cold day in hell.)



I seem to have been determined to draw every last one of Claudia's eyelashes.

Here's what I had to say about Claud:

Claudia is running away. She doesn't want to be running away but, running to somewhere. She picks the Art Museum. She runs away because she is treated unfairly. She is the oldest child and only girl in the family. When she and younger brother, Jamie, move in, they discover "Angel". Claudia's determination and Jamie's money lead them to Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler . . . . and the secret of Angel.

Despite the fact that I give zero explanation about the oh-so-mysterious "Angel," you can see that I was BORN to write juvenile marketing material. I think I may have missed my calling.

From the Mixed-Up Files is, in my opinion, the quintessential YA running away book, and woo boy, did I ever enjoy reading—and writing—about running away. (I mean, what could be cooler than living in the art museum? I ask you, WHAT?) In sixth grade, I actually plagiarized the bejesus out of this book in a story creatively titled "Running Away." You will totally get to read it once sixth grade rolls around.

Book Report #2
The assignment: A letter to the author
Book Report: Judge Benjamin: The Superdog Secret
Author: Judith Whitelock McInerney
Type: Animal Story
Pages: 140

Judith Whitelock McInerney wrote a whole slew of books about the redheaded O'Riley clan and their long-suffering Saint Bernard, Judge Benjamin (not to be confused with Judge Reinhold—man, there were way too many Judges in the '80s), who also happens to be the narrator. This was the only Judge Benjamin book that we owned, but it was also my favorite because it involved a mobile home. I was utterly fascinated with mobile homes after viewing a two-minute clip about them once on Sesame Street. I was all, "You can sit at a table and eat breakfast WHILE YOU'RE DRIVING? And play cards? And watch TV? WHILE YOU'RE DRIVING??? Sign me the fuck up!"

But back to the Saint Bernard:




The back of the book gives us this terse synopsis:

The O'Rileys are a big, happy family. There's Mr. & Mrs. O'Riley and their four children—Kathleen, Seth, Maura, and Annie. There's also Judge Benjamin, their 200-pound dog. One day Mr. O'Riley announces that they're all going on vacation in their new camper. All of them except Judge Benjamin, that is. But Annie has other ideas!

Yes, they somehow manage to hide a Saint Bernard in a mobile home. Don't ask. Here's what I had to say to ol' Judes about it:

Dear [left blank even though it CLEARLY states the author's name at the top of the page]

I think the Judge Benjamin books are great! I have read The Superdog Secret, The Superdog Surprise, The Superdog Rescue and the Superdog I forget!. I am writing this letter about The Superdog Secret. I think it is neat how you write it from Judge's point of view. I love the characters, too! Just like a real family: sometimes caring, fighting, sweet, firm, etc., but always loving. It was funny how the kids decided to hide Judge in the tiny tub in the trailer. How could he manage smelly socks on his nose and bras on his tail from Decatur to Canada? Poor Judge! But in the end he always comes through. Nothing is more important than his family!

Sincerely,
Sada

P.S. Keep Writing!

Yes, words of encouragement from a 10-year-old to a published author.

Book Report #3
The assignment: A diary for a week
Title: With Love From Karen
Author: Marie Killilea
Type: Non-fiction

I was a pretty strict fiction reader, but I made one critical exception: true stories about crippled children. Preferably written many decades earlier. I had a particular soft spot for blind children or—even better!—blind and deaf children. But Karen Killilea somehow managed to be the QUEEN of the crippled children, even though she still had all of her senses intact. For one thing, her book actually had a SEQUEL (reported on here; both books were written by her mom). And yeah, she had cerebral palsy, but she also had a Pollyanna-esque perkiness that made YOU wish that you had been born crippled just so you could learn to walk with crutches for the first time too! Also, the Killileas had about 78 million pets, and I was jealous because I had something that was maybe even WORSE than cerebral palsy: allergies.

Here's Karen with one of her 10,000 dogs:



The back cover copy hilariously reads:

For the thousands of people who personally wrote to ask, "What has happened to Karen since her story was published?" and for the millions whose hearts went out to this freckle-faced, pig-tailed little girl and wondered in silence about how she grew up, this book is a personal reply—written with tender appreciation, with love from Karen.

It was published in 1963, if that's any sort of excuse.

Anyway, my mom maintains that this book report is brilliant because I wrote it all in the decidedly sentimental style of Marie Killilea. I also used a different pen or pencil for each "diary entry," to give it that authentic feel:

Diary of Karen Killilea

Friday [written with pencil]:

I feel that I have made the right decision. No more will I be in the crutch's prison. Well, now that I have this diary "Mom Pom" gave me to keep up my good handwriting, I feel I should explain myself. I have cerebal palsy. Well time to eat dinner. Good-bye, dear diary!

With love,
from,
Karen

Saturday [written with pencil]:

Today we took Ocean Borne to a dog show. Ocean Borne and Peri are our Newfoundlands. Today, at the show, I had a surprise. Ed Doll was there! I remember when I sent him the telegram telling him that Ocean Borne went BOB (best of breed). He said WHO'S BOB? When I saw him we hugged and he said, "How's BOB?" So, I know he has not forgotten either. Soon, Gloria, Russ, Mary, and Evelyn will be home. I'M SO HAPPY.

But I miss Shanty and Rory. MUCH. VERY MUCH. OH WELL.

With Love,
From,
Karen

Sunday [written with pink pen!]:

Dear Diary,
How foolish I've been to not explain my spectacular family to you. There is "Mom Pom", Daddy, Gloria, Marie, Rory, and Kristen. And our animals! Shanty was my dog but, alas, he has passed away. Hmmmmmm. Now there is Ocean Borne, Peri, and Pierre. Our cats are many. One is Misty Morning. Another, Kristen's companion, is Etcetera, our darling Siamese with points! We also have 2 birds and more cats (of course). Glo and Russ (+ kids) lived in Florida and on Tuesday they are coming back.

GOD BLESS THEM!

With Love From,
Karen

P.S. We also have an alligator, Gigidinella, and a talking parrot, Gazebo

Monday [written with black pen]:

Dear Diary,
So much to do in so little time. Glo, Russ, Mary, and Evelyn will be here tomorrow "for keeps" says Glo. Let me tell you all about my important decision. I chose between riding in my wheelchair (FREEDOM) and the crutches (PAIN). Naturally I chose the wheelchair. I am free. Well, I still have to help prepare the surprise party for GLO AND RUSS! Excitement is in the air. I can smell it.

FREEDOM!

With Love From,
Karen

Tuesday [written with blue pen]:

Dear Diary,
Glo and Russ and Mary and Evelyn came home today. Evelyn is the most darling baby. Kristen loves her. (So does Etcetera.) And more animals! Glo presented me with a tank of the most beautiful tropical fish. Our menagerie grows! Rory came for a visit!!!!!!!!!! His girlfriend, Virginia McGuire, brought us a puppy, a beutiful Golden Retriever, who Virginia claimed she was called Shannon. (I guess Rory told her about Shanty.) Glo is back and they are looking for a house. Jean, our neighbor, said things were back to normal. Even Marie, her husband, Ronald, and son were there.

I AM SO HAPPY. I WISH SHANTY WERE HERE.

With all My Love Family + Friends From,
Karen

Wednesday [written with pink pen]:

Dear Diary,
Today, oh, today was a glorious day. We went to the beach. It was warm enough. Virginia does the most remarkable dives. Shannon joined our 3 dogs (2 Newfs, 1 Daschund) in a water/romp game of fetch-the-frisbee. What fun. Kristen is learning to hold her breath! Mary can swim!!!! It is nice to see us all together. I happily took note that Marie and Gloria are the same fantastic swimmers they used to be. Glo, Mare, Ginia (VIRGINIA), and myself raced, swimming, in the water. I had some tough competition. Later, Mommy told me we were all very impressive.

WHAT FUN I HAD TODAY I WILL REMEMBER FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE.

All My Love,
Karen

Thursday [written with pencil]:

Dear Diary,
Today Rory and Ginia went away. (AGAIN!!!!!) Glo and Russ have already found the perfect house. I suspect mommy was hunting for them when they were in Florida. Now they are getting a Labrador. We used to have one named Highland Lark (Lark for short). Mary wants to get a dog named "fishy". She is hilarious! Today was OK, I guess.

SO LONG, DEAR DIARY!

With Love from Karen

Wow. Two things:
1) I definitely read those books way too many times.
2) I kind of want to write everything à la Marie Killilea from now on. Ahem:

This trip down memory lane has been such glorious fun! How lucky I was to have such impressive authors to emulate and such remarkable books to plagiarize. And how foolish I've been not to write like the spectacular Killileas all along!

WHAT FUN I HAD WRITING THIS BLOG ENTRY I WILL REMEMBER FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE. Well, time to eat dinner. Good-bye, my dear, darling readers!

With love,
from,
Sada

NEXT TIME: Plot treatments for some stories that never were, but definitely should have been (hi, The Bikini Summer?).