All Nonfiction Bullying Books Academic Author Interviews Celebrity interviews College Articles College Essays Educator of the Year Heroes Interviews Memoir Personal Experience Sports Travel & CultureAll Opinions Bullying Current Events / Politics Discrimination Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking Entertainment / Celebrities Environment Love / Relationships Movies / Music / TV Pop Culture / Trends School / College Social Issues / Civics Spirituality / Religion Sports / Hobbies
- Summer Guide
- College Guide
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Personal Experience
- Travel & Culture
- Current Events / Politics
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
- Community Service
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
I Remember It All
I remember when we discovered that Dad didn’t have
supernatural powers when he opened the jelly jar.
When Mom’s kiss didn’t make everything better.
The time we made a whole batch of cookies and brownies
by ourselves, standing on the chairs at the counter.
When we first reached the kitchen sink,
all by ourselves without stools,
or when we were finally old enough to watch
‘big-kid’ movies nobody let us watch before.
I remember when we were small enough
to ride that basset hound, Daisy, like a horse.
When we realized that our older brothers
could actually hurt us, like Mom always warned.
That very first scrape from that very first bike ride.
The night I hurt my wrist and you carried my bike for me,
all the way down the hill to my driveway.
All the skits we directed and produced outside.
That very first trip that seemed halfway across the world,
but was really the whole entire length of the monkey bars.
I remember when we tossed sand into storm drains,
then ran away from the evil skunks that lived down there.
Walking to the Old Hotel together on a summer day,
and sliding down huge rocks,
permanently staining our jeans.
The day off that we hid in my garage from the evil FedEx man,
or when we all went to your Maine house for the weekend.
Sledding down the backyard hill,
then off to my house for hot chocolate.
Riding on Bus 3 with Charlie and Annie.
And I remember that day when I told you we were moving.
You promised me that you wouldn’t ever
walk into that house when it no longer was my home.
I never believed you would be able to keep the promise,
but it was one of the things we trusted each other on anyway.
And then the last time I saw you, three years after the move,
at your church one Sunday morning.
I remember how we talked for a few minutes before we left,
just like the two of us would have on the hill behind your house
on a warm day three years ago.
You were taller, and slimmer, but three years didn’t change either of us much.
Your hair was the same shade of strawberry red, like it was before the move.
You had the same smile, and we laughed together
about the silly things we had done when we were younger.
I remember it all.