Tag Archives: Boston

Welcome to Boston

I wrote this “memoir” sophomore year for a communication writing class. I thought it was pretty entertaining so I assumed the readers here would too. Many of you have heard this story…if not, well, it’s definitely memorable. It’s also pretty long, so don’t read it if you’re in a hurry.

It starts below the city of Boston in the tangled system that hosts trains going anywhere and everywhere, with no concrete schedule of when they’ll arrive or depart. It starts with the time you’re given to stand and wait while the train is running around the city. It starts with that dull olive army cap that always seems to stay in the same corner of your eye as you stand patiently by yourself, waiting.

It’s odd. Even in the middle of the growing crowd of people waiting to get somewhere, that army cap never seems to go away; it stays near you, bobbing along with the rhythm of the masses. The cap is misleading too because it’s clear that it doesn’t even belong to an army guy. Instead, the only visible cues of life from that hat are grey, matted hairs springing out from underneath it. These hairs are sparse, but frequent enough to provide a little shade for the glassy-grey eyes that sit below a wrinkled, spotted forehead. All of these features exist undercover with help from that fake cap.

Its frequent persistence is a little unnerving, so you decide to move away. Being stared at is nice sometimes, but why from an old guy? Apparently the young, strapping army lads are at boot camp and you’re stuck here, in this dingy train station, with their homeless grandfather batting eyes at you.

As you walk, you take in all the other sensations specific only to this place. This place where trains come and go, people stand and wait, and musicians play for quarters with the hope of a big break. Sometimes it’s hard not to feel bad for them—nobody really gives them a second glance. You keep moving in hopes of escaping the hat and those eyes. The magazine stand looks informative enough, hosting dozens of papers and tabloids promising that they know the secret to the new Hollywood diet. It’s all very intriguing, but the sugar infused junk food they sell is what really grabs your attention. Rows of chocolates and sweets and sugars and all sorts of things that you were warned about as a child fill at least half of the stand—there are so many choices that it’s almost hard to decide. The magazine men are nice enough though. Give them a dollar twenty-five and they’ll respond with a Snickers bar. Continue reading


Filed under Weird Happenings

We called him Casper…

because he was so unbelievably pale. But…he was also unbelievably friendly. And caring. And giving. And loving.

I also called him Spider Fingers because his fingers were long and skinny to an ungodly degree and when he rubbed sunscreen on my back at the beach, I would inevitably end up with a burn in the shape of his alien-like hand print…but that might detract from my remembrance of him.

Four years ago today, my little brother Daniel died at the age of 14. Maybe this topic isn’t meant to be one for the inter-webs, but I want people to know about him. He was worth knowing and, even though it might seem a bit too public, worth remembering on WordPress. This entry might have a different tone than the others, but Daniel commands my respect (but Daniel, you know I gotta make jokes about you…I wouldn’t be the same big sister if I didn’t :))

For those of you who don’t know, Daniel was born with congenital heart disease. By the time he was eight, he had already survived 12 open heart surgeries and over 150 blood transfusions. It was at this point that his heart was exhausted and had simply had enough…he needed a transplant. He and my parents flew to the best hospital for the job, Boston Children’s Hospital in Boston, Massachusetts, and waited patiently for the heart that he was so certain would come.

There I was, in 6th grade and starting my life at a brand new middle school where I only knew a few other students. I was awkward looking, unfamiliar with the territory, without my parents and little bro, and life was about as hard for an 11-year-old as it could be. My parents and baby brother left for Boston in late summer and stayed for a solid 3-4 months while I stayed with my older brother, Lee, and my grandpa, Big Bo, in Augusta, Georgia.

Because Daniel lived a fuller life than I’m sure most people ever will, there are many stories about him that I could tell, but I’ll share just a few–the ones that I think speak best for his personality and outlook on life: Continue reading


Filed under General Thoughts