WHO ME? A TEEN? PSH* I SKIPPED THOSE YEARS, DIDN’T YOU KNOW? **CONTEST**

[Roza marie]

 

I come from the era where cell phones didn’t have cameras or text messaging and cameras required film. Although technology is more advanced, has school really changed that much because of this?

As YA writers / MG writers, I decided to stir up some memories for this little contest.

We as parents have heard the same speech we might have told our parents, “You can’t possibly understand” to the “OMG you’re so unfair” or the “That’s not how high school is now!”

So, as a salute to Back to school, I am holding a contest for all of you perturbed parents out there. Ready????

I want you to post an experience you’ve had in either middle grade, or high school and I want you to tell me what you learned from it as a parent/writer? What message would you send to a preteen/teen?

Remember you must be an annual subscriber of the Yalitchat and also a member of this group, in order to win. If you are a parent no matter what the age of the child you may enter.

The best story will win a 25-dollar gift card for Target

Post entries inside the comment box.

Good luck to all that enter. =)

Contest will end at 11:59 pm EST. August 31^st.

I will post the winner on September 12^st, 2010.

My story: I complained to my shoe-aholic grandmother that I needed these shoes. They were “Candies” thick wooden-heeled sandals. So, she bought them for me, and warned me to practice walking in them, but I didn’t. Mind you, I’ve never wore heels, so this was one hell of an experience within itself. At the time, I was a sophomore, and I had a plan. Wear heels, wear some different clothes, and try to get a boyfriend. Not just any boy--- Chad Davis, a beautiful, blue eyed, dark haired boy. (I thought these damn sandals were the KEY) WRONG!!!! I climbed the stairs fine, got a little cocky at it too. Thought about grandma’s warning and said, HA crazy lady, I’m proving her wrong. That was my mistake. As I am going down the steps, my sandal slips, I miss some steps, and came tumbling down. Where do I land? On my ass, in front of dream boy, laughing at my big tumbling performance. GO ME. What I learned, always listen to the shoe-aholic grandma, and never wear shoes that will possibly kill you in order to impress a boy. BE yourself!

[Kim Baccellia]

One day in midde school, I realized I didn't do my homework. I asked one of my friends for hers so I could copy the assignment. Mr. Eipper, one of my least favorite teachers, knew something was up. He stormed down the aisle, coming my way. I quickly put the paper under my seat, figuring he would NEVER grab it. I was sitting on top of the paper. To make matters worse, I wore one of those mini skirts that was so popular in the 70s.

Mr. Eipper gets to me. "Kimi, give me that paper."
"What paper?" I asked, trying to act so innocent.
Then to my utter horror and humilation, he reaches down and grabs the paper right from under me.
Of course one of the cutest guys sees the whole thing. I just about died.

Moral of lesson: Don't think you can get away with cheating and lying that easily with teachers. Oh, and never sit under evidence with a short skirt.

[Georgia McBride]

Great contest, Roza. Too bad I don't qaulify. I did a lot of stupid things in high school.

[Rhonda Kodger]

I think this is an awesome contest. But, my son is only four so I'm not sure I qualify yet but I'm sure my time is coming. : )

[Jaycee DeLorenzo]

Great contest!!!

Okay, here's mine:

One day, as an innocent litlte 6th grader, I was walking through the eighth-grade hallway towards the cafeteria when some boy said "here," and handed me a small foil wrapper. My thought? It was a wet-nap, which was weird thing for someone to hand me, but stranger things had happened.

Before lunch, the counselor had asked me to come eat with him so we could discuss this volunteer program I had signed up for. So, there I am, eating lunch with Mr. Teddy, who finishes his lunch before me, and is looking for his napkin. So, remembering the wet-nap that boy gave me, I handed it over and told him he could use mine.

He looks down at it, gets the strangest look on his face, but thanks me and suddenly finds his own napkin. He doesn't give me the wet-nap back, which I don't think about at all.

When my mom comes to pick me up, he stops her in the hall and tells her the hilarious and endearing story of how I gave him a condom to wipe his hands with today, but he thought it was the sweetest thing that I had no idea what I was really holding.

Lesson - two, I think. 1) There are still naive students in middle school, somehow, and 2) Yes, I could embarrass myself even more than I thought I could. I had been on quite the streak that year.

[Jude Griffin]

Roza--

I had almost the SAME EXACT experience (different Candies, bonus humiliation)-- clopping down stairs, exquisitely conscious of CRUSH behind me, slipped, slid to the bottom. Ripped open seat of pants. Much hilarity for all. But one.

[Gennifer Albin]

We watched him everyday. A chorus of laughter-nervous, boisterous, fake. Pecking the ground for loose change, he seemed unaware of our mocking. Jeans too short and stonewashed, he had obviously bought them at the Salvation Army, and while it was hip for us to pick up old t-shirts and retro jackets at the thrift store, we wouldn't dare to shop there.

A few of the boys took to dropping their change. Their delighted faces reflecting in the medals pinned to their letterman's jackets. I didn't laugh, but I watched. Day after day, I watched. My social status was tenuous. I was thin, pretty, and I had an unearned bad reputation. There was always a crowd or the bell was ringing or a teacher was nearby, so I shut up and watched. Every day I imagined what he did with the change. Did he buy lunch? Did he take it home to his mom? Everyday a lump sat in my throat.

The last day, the boys with the wicked eyes dumped out a barrel of pennies collected either for many days or from many people. I don't care to know which.

They thundered in the crowded hallway, scattering and bouncing across our feet. He sprang at them, darting between our legs, knocking into his audience. He didn't care what we thought. If he heard the laughter, he ignored it. It was a great joke. I wanted to cry.

By all accounts, I am a poor person now. My family and I live a lifestyle based on our ideals and goals, and it doesn't pay much. For years I looked at that memory and hated myself for staying silent. I've silently raged at those boys for ten years. I now know two things about the boy who chased pennies. The first is how he felt - to be so poor that there was no pride left sometimes. The second is that he was smarter than us. He wasn't caught up in the glory or the drama, and if people are going to throw away money, someone else, someone who deserves it, should have it.

I'd like to think by the time our children are adolescents, money won't be such an issue. That our ideals when coupled with determination and work will yield fruit. But no matter what, I will have succeeded in my life, if my child will bend down to help a boy chasing pennies.

[J.L. Spelbring]

It was a hot summer day. The sun was shining. The sky was a perfect, beautiful blue.

There was a boy. His name was Chris. Golden brown hair, hazel eyes, tan skin. And a rippled midsection that reminded me of a series of waves. By the way, he could roll his stomach and that reminded me of waves, too. Completely fascinating.

My best friend, Missy--her real name was Marquita, but she hated it--and I were to meet him and his friend at the pool at noon. I couldn't wait. My mom bought me the cutest little bikini. It was blue and had these small little stripes run diagonally across it.

I had a problem, though, I had chores to do, which, of course, I waited to the last minute to do. In a frantic state, I dialed Missy's number and begged her to come help me.

Being the best friend that she was, Missy sprinted to my house, and the both of us went on a cleaning frenzy, working together in perfect harmony. I dusted, while she vacuumed. I swept the kitchen floor, while she washed the dishes. We both picked up my clothes off the floor and shoved them under my bed. You know, because moms never look there.

When we were done, I scrambled to my room and striped off my clothes and tossed them next to my cute swimming number. Missy quietly waited in the living room next to the door. Not really, Missy kept herself occupied by informing of the time and telling me to hurry.

Frantic, I grabbed my bikini and wiggled into the nylon material, then grabbed my swimming shirt and pulled it over my head. I burst through the bedroom door in record time and skidded to a stop.

"Let's go," I said, all cool like, you know. My head was doing a little nod.

We walked to the pool all casual-like, and from a short distance, I saw him...Chris. He looked up as we approached. A beautiful smile displayed on his face. His eyes actually glimmered under the mid-august sun. He was wearing a pair of green swimming trunks, and as he raised his hand to wave, the muscles in his stomach rippled ever so slightly.

Sigh.

"Hey," I said as I tossed my towel onto the lounge chair. "Sorry we're a little late."

He shrugged, and then turned and dived into the water. He broke back through the surface, that dazzling smile still stretched across his face, droplets of water clinging to his hair.

Sigh. He was so gorgeous.

"Come in." He motioned to me to join him. "The water feels great."

I pulled the shirt over my head, and suddenly, the sounds of laughter filled my ears. Not just any laughter, but the rolling-on-the-floor type of laughter. You know, the type that squeezes tears from your eyes and you just can't stop laughing type of laughter.

"This isn't right," I thought to myself as I watched Chris giggling like an insane person.

I finished tugging the shirt over my head and glanced over at Missy. Missy wasn't laughing, she looked horrified. Her eyes were bulging and her mouth was hanging open.

Confused, I was like, "What?"

She pointed at me. And not in the middle of my chest like where most points go. She pointed at me, but her arm was angled down. So taking the cue, I looked down.

And then my face mirrored Missy's, only worse. My eyes had to have popped right out of my head, and I know for a fact, my jaw literally hit the ground.

In my frantic state, I had taken my clothes off and pulled on my bikini top, but, not paying attention, I had grabbed my panties and tugged them back on, mistaking them for my bikini bottoms.

My moral. Don't wait until the last minute to do your chores.

[Sheri Larsen]

Okay. This took me forever to decide. At first I couldn't think of anything valuable. Then, I thought of too many examples. And then I wanted to post a funny example yet felt a more serious one tugging at me. So after procrastinating, as only I can, I've decided on this one.

My grandfather, who I call Pep, had been ill for many years. He'd been struggling with diabetes and a ton of other ailments. My grandmother, who I call Mem and was the best person I've ever known, was his primary caregiver as well as his soulmate. The summer before my seventh grade year began, not only did his health take a nose dive but so did hers. She had survived breast cancer twenty years before, but it had returned, attacking her other breast--the only one she had left.

She was one of the most physically beautiful woman I've ever known. Marilyn Monroe didn't have anything on her. She was dark, voluptuous, and had the most striking blue eyes. But none of that compared to the beauty of her heart or her sense of humor. Her laugh was infectious and totally genuine. She was very humble, yet I'm sure the lose of one of her breast all those years prior had to bother her. None of us would ever have known it, though. She always wore a smile.

Pep was a big man, and soon he became wheelchair ridden. That change made it quite rough for Mem to keep caring for him alone. So I offered to move in with them and help her. Their house was only a few streets from my parents' house, so I didn't see it as a big deal. Same friends. Same school. Just different sleeping arrangements.

As you might have guessed, it was way more than that. I stopped hanging with friends, other than during school hours. Mem needed my help more than I could have imagined, especially with the passing of time and her health was slowly deteriorating. She was losing her battle with the new bout of cancer.

I lived with them that entire school year and into the summer, learning from her and sharing many laughs. Finally, caring for Pep became too much for Mem, even with my help. Remember, I was only thirteen, tall, and built like a string bean. Pepere was very heavy to lift in and out of bed, the tub, etc... That Fall, they moved into a nursing home, together. Same room, as husband and wife always. It only took Mem two weeks to pass away. She knew that Pep was taken care of, and she was so tired.

As a tween turning into a teen, I had to give up a lot for that one year. I'd NEVER EVER change it. It was a life lesson on giving of myself for someone else, without payment or public applause. But what I did receive could never be matched by any monetary scale or popular opinion stage. My grandmother taught me how to be a silent, suffering servant and how to do it from my heart.

That is a priceless lesson I'd love to pass on to my children and pass on through my writing. I'd love to do it in her honor someday.

[Roza marie]

This contest is OFFICALLY CLOSED! Thanks for all that have participated. I will be posting the winner here soon =)

[Roza marie]

This was by far the hardest decision I had to make. I wish i had more prizes to give b/c i would have given four more away. But sadly I only have one and drum rolll please......


The moral: be selfless and do things without rewards.

The Winner: Sheri Larsen. Congrats and I thought that was an unbelievably kind and great thing you did for your grandma and grandpa. =)