Birthday Candles:

My first memory is of my second birthday party. I’ve learned from my parents and family photos who was there, and what my sister and I wore. But I only truly remember one tiny aspect. I remember looking at my cake. It was a Shoprite cake, with two Dora the Explorers on it, one for each my sister and I. I remember looking down at that cake, staring the Doras down with their pink shirts and purple backpacks, and nothing else. I know that everyone sang, that everyone told us to blow out the candles and make a wish, before I even knew what a wish was. All I remember is that cake, with the candles sticking out, tiny flames lit on top. I don’t remember what happened after, but I know that I must have blown them out.

Kindergarten Blues:

I was not scared on my first day of kindergarten. I remember other kids crying and latching onto their parents for the full first week. Specifically, this one girl did not want to go to kindergarten. I myself was very excited, I was finally a big kid and would get to go to school all day, instead of the half day I was used to at pre-school. But this girl, she did not want to go to kindergarten. She would initially be fine upon arriving in the classroom, where her parents would escort her. It was when they left that she dissolve into a full meltdown. She would scream and cry and scream “Please!” at her father, begging him not to abandon her in this foreign place. This lasted for a full month. I was never scared of going to school. It was a change that I embraced, even as I grew older and my peers learned to scorn the very place I felt at home at. I always knew that school was the place for me, but I guess not for that poor girl.

The Diving Board, Part One:

My family used to have a membership at the Mount Pleasant town pool, before work and school and vacations plagued our summers. We would go to the pool and set up our chairs, typically by the baby pool, but we soon progressed to be near the big pool, where my sister and I spent the majority of our time. Soon I was tall enough to go down the water slide. For me, it was a big deal, because I was able to go on when my sister couldn’t, because I was slightly taller. I went down and resurfaced without a scratch, my adrenaline pumping and blood rushing. Soon enough, my eyes were beginning to focus on the waterslide’s next door neighbor: the diving board.

The first time I saw that I was tall enough to jump off, I rushed onto the line. When it was finally my turn, I grasped the metal railings to the ladder with my pruned hands and slowly climbed up. The diving board was not high up, only about four feet above the water, but to me, it was impossibly high. I tried to muster the courage to jump, but found it impossible. Ashamed, I turned on my heel and climbed down off the diving board and squeezed past the line. This would not be the last time that I failed to conquer the diving board. Time after time, every trip to the pool would result in another battle between me and the diving board. Soon enough, the summertime was over and the pool was closing. I said goodbye to my diving board dreams for the time being, vowing to return next pool season.

The Golden Gate City:

When I was eleven, my family took a trip to California. We visited three places in the state, our first stop being in San Francisco. On our second night, we decided to take a ferry to the town across from the foggy city, Sausalito. After a filling dinner and some leisurely window shopping, we headed back to the port to wait for our ferry back home. We got to the pier at around eight o’clock, expecting to wait until 8:30 for our ferry. It seemed that, just our luck, there was a ferry waiting at the pier waiting for passengers to board. It was too good to be true! We all gathered our belongings and boarded the ship, my brother in a stroller, and embarked back to San Francisco.

When we arrived, the pier looked unfamiliar. We had no idea where we were. We quickly found a map and realized that we had boarded the wrong boat, and we were thirty blocks away from our hotel. It was fifty degrees and I was in shorts. We tried hailing a cab, but they were all full. So we began to walk. And walk. And walk. My parents had been bickering for the twenty minutes we had walked, until all of a sudden my mother began to hysterically laugh. She laughed so hard at our situation she cried. Soon enough, we were all laughing, wondering how we had ended up on a dark street that cold San Francisco night. We finally stumbled upon a bus, who said that they were running. We had to wait fifteen minutes for the drivers break to be up, sitting in the cold until we could bear it no more. Thankfully, the bus driver’s break was up quickly and we got home in the nick of time. As painful as it was to brave the freezing cold in a foreign city, it also happens to be one of my family’s favorite memories together, one we can laugh over with each other and with others. That night was an adventure, however inconvenient.

The Diving Board, Part Two:

That next summer it was a showdown. Me against the diving board. I remember the pool was at the brink of closing down for the night and most of the guests had left. I knew that now was my chance, the perfect opportunity to brave the daunting diving board. I clambered up the steps and walked to the edge, took a deep breath, and forced myself to jump. It was liberating, the feeling of nothing beneath you but air. I landed with a splash, swam to the steps, got out of the dive pool, and went home, feeling satisfied.

Come With Me:

It was the first day that had hit above 90*. It was hot and humid and unbearable; I wasn’t used to the sticky, dense air and the scorching pavement beneath my bare feet. Until my friend had asked if a bunch of my friends and I wanted to come over and have a water balloon fight later on in the day. My sister answered for the both of us, saying yes. So I put on my swimsuit and pushed aside my neglected homework and went to my friend’s house. I, personally despise water balloon fights. They always are painful, and typically the majority of the water that gets on me is not from the water balloons. That day was no different. My friend threw a water balloon right at my bare stomach, leaving a red welt for the next two and a half hours. I would not let him forget. And to fulfill the second part of the course my water balloon fight saga takes, my other friend dumped the bin of water used to store the balloons. I welcomed the water, for the air was too humid. I constantly felt as if I was moving through jello, and my breaths got shallow from all the moisture in the air.

After the water balloons, we decided to play badminton. My sister and I made fools out of ourselves, but we were laughing anyways. All of a sudden, the moisture in the air had reached the maximum, and it began to pour rain. Quickly, we all ran inside of the garage, but soon I felt myself asking why. I looked at my friends, and asked “Who’s coming with me?”

All of my friends and I rushed out into the torrential downpour, with extreme winds almost blowing us away. We jumped in puddles in our bare feet and swimsuits, ran around in the street while rivers of rainwater rushed towards the gutters. I felt the exhilaration reach my soul.

When I was younger, I was always a careful, conservative person. I always aired on the side of caution, hesitant to rush into things. I still have that side to me, but in that moment, I was someone who played in the rain. I was filthy, with mud caked up my legs and blades of grass stuck to my feet. My hair was gnarled and filled with knots. My mascara was smudging around my eyes and my nose was running. I did not care.

Encore: Birthday Candles:

It is the morning of my sixteenth birthday. I wake up to the sunshine coming through my window, the first birthday I can remember in forever where the weather has been favorable. I waltz downstairs to see flowers on the tabletop, a “Happy Birthday” banner hanging on the wall, and a little blue box with a card. I kiss my parents good morning and sit down and smell my roses. They have me open my gift, a Tiffany’s necklace, and read my card. I got a homemade pancake breakfast and got to decide on dinner. My grandparents came over and showered us with love and adoration. I was able to stay in my pajamas all day. It was a small celebration, the only contact from my family and birthday wishes from my friends. I remember the cake we had, a homemade ice cream cake my mother had made the day before, adorned with hot fudge and candles with tiny flickering flames.  My family sang to my sister and I and told us to make a wish. I did.