In my college days, Dad gave me one of two old foot lockers he had from his Air Force Days. I used it as a coffee table for a long time. In my current apartment, it's in my bedroom, and for years now, it's slowly filled up with memories.
I went through it yesterday for kicks and giggles, and started thinking, "I need to blog about some of this stuff."
As a child, I was what my dad called, "loquacious." I had a lot to say. Not much has changed.
Anyway, many of my memories--a pile of old journals and diaries dating back to 1985, school reports and every possible opinion expressed therein--are both hysterically funny and, I think, an interesting peek at the little girl and teenager who would grow up to be Pagan Megan, world-traveler, kitten-wrangler, music teacher, and loquacious blogger.
Before I got to the printed materials, I pulled out my high school letter jacket. My parents and my Grandma Bean gifted me with this for Christmas in my freshman year. I got to pick it out, and chose the blue body and red sleeves. I chose the bulldog I liked--originally I thought it would be cool to have a bulldog with a clarinet in its mouth, but that would have been too much trouble (and money). I had them stitch a clarinet on the front, instead. When Mom and I went to pick it up, I peered at it and finally said, "Mom...that's not a clarinet." They'd accidentally put a bassoon on my jacket! It was easily fixed, at no extra cost.
I remember proudly wearing my jacket to school in January, only to have Tina Hester (not her real name, of course) snidely remark in English class, "Frankly, Megan, Annie and I laugh at people who letter in band." I don't recall what my reply was. I think it was a single raised eyebrow and a "who gives a shit?" stare. Anyway, Tina Hester never lettered in anything, never made Honor Roll, didn't go to college, and married Dickie Boil, the uber-band geek who was famous for always dropping cymbals at inopportune moments.
Despite the disdain of Tina and her BFF Annie, I was proud of my letter jacket, and wore it for four years.
Look! It totally fits like it did in high school!
Next to come out of the foot locker was a t-shirt I've never been able to part with. I found several Snoopy t-shirts in London gift shops when I was there for London Semester in 1999. I bought one, and then I came back to Chico and gained a ton of weight. These days, the shirt fits again (and smells like cedar chips).
I still have my cap, stole and program from my graduation from California State University, Chico. I decorated my cap, even though I knew there wasn't even a slim chance of my parents being able to find me among the hundreds and hundreds of graduates.
This cute little...painting thing...was made in 4th grade--I know this because that was the year Molly the Collie died and we planted the tree in her honor.
Under this, a stack of old reports beckoned. I have saved a lot of old papers because I was the Queen of Creative Report Covers back in the day. I was so disappointed in college when I realized that most profs just wanted a simple title, and maybe a picture of the musician you were profiling. They just don't appreciate creativity in college!
First up is the big ole term paper I wrote in my junior year U.S. History class. Even back then, young Meg was an animal lover. I chose the Endangered Species Act after finding a National Geographic with a big story about this very topic in our mailbox one day.
In sixth grade, the school put together a book of art and poems by all the kids in the school. I remember I was really proud of my dolphin picture, until I saw the perfectly-drawn dolphin by Desiree Wilkinson. Her dolphin put mine to shame.
In 7th grade, we had to do country reports for social studies. This was the year of Operation Desert Storm, and I was a huge fan of
"Voices That Care" (oh, dear God, how embarrassing), so I chose to do my report on Kuwait. I figured that what I lacked in library books on Kuwait was made up for by the endless stacks of Newsweek magazines that Dad saved for me. Yes, that is real sand. The "oil" is black marker covered in Elmer's glue.
Incidentally, this was before computers were a prominent part of my life, and I wrote it all by hand, in cursive.
In my senior year, we had to "live with an author" for our senior project. I chose F. Scott Fitzgerald.
In sophomore year Biology, I got a lot of extra credit because my teacher liked my creative flair. It helped to make up for being in a class with Shanda the Hun, who everyone agreed was a bully of epic proportions. I mostly ignored her, so she and her minions moved on.
At the beginning of Honors US History in my junior year, Mr. Hallam gave us an assignment designed to test our ability to follow directions. I was always proud of this map because 1) I followed every exact direction he gave, and 2) I drew that free-hand.
I loved, loved, LOVED Mrs. Kohn, my senior Honors English teacher. We all did. She was always highly complimentary about my writing, and even back then, I was a little bit of an Anglophile. What's amazing is that it was just a scant three years later that I'd go to London for the first time.
Never one to shy away from controversial topics, I tackled the Huck Finn debate in my sophomore year English class. I argued that it is a necessary part of American literature, even with the use of the n-word, because it portrays a time in our history that needs to be remembered so that we can learn from it. Besides, Mark Twain was a genius. I think I need to re-read some of his books this summer...
Our big paper for our sophomore year was a joint project cooked up between our English and Biology teachers. We wrote one paper, printed two copies, and got a grade from each teacher. Both of my teachers loved my report on the effects of captivity on orcas, inspired by the recent blockbuster film, "Free Willy."
Amazingly, I still have my old mission report from 4th grade. For those of you who weren't so fortunate to grow up in the Golden State, 4th grade social studies standards focus on California history. Since the Spanish missions are a huge part of California history, 4th graders do mission projects. Back in my day (when I walked to school in the snow--uphill both ways--okay, okay, I rode the bus, and it doesn't snow in the Sacramento valley, except once ever 10 years or so), we built our mission models out of old cereal boxes and Popsicle sticks. These days, Michael's sells kits. Kids today have it sooo easy. Anyway, I was assigned Mission San Miguel Archangel, which is located in San Luis Obispo.
In 5th grade, it was time for state reports. Everyone had to do a different state, and there was competition between me and Rod Night for Utah. He wanted it because he was Mormon; I wanted it because my Grandma Cooper lived there and would send me brochures and postcards to spruce up the brochure I had to make.
I won the coin toss, Grandma Cooper came through, and I dedicated my report to my dad (who I've since learned got the hell out of Utah as soon as he could manage it--thank you, United States Air Force, I rather like being a California Girl).
In 8th grade, I once again appealed to Grandma Cooper for some help, and she sent me some great information on the Ute tribe (Ute...Utah) for my Native American Report for US History. Mom helped me with the cover, which is probably one of my best covers ever.
Now we move on to diaries and journals. This is the juicy stuff. I was always boy-crazy, and went through my share of crushes over the years. I also had a way with words that, in retrospect, makes me laugh.
The oldest diary (black with hot pink hearts--eight-year-old Megan's DREAM) starts in 1985 or so. I was obsessed with a boy who lived down the street. He moved away a year or two later, and I felt the loss keenly, until I moved to Folsom and found new boys at my new school.
At some point, I must have decided that it's not fair that boys get to have "Junior" or "the 2nd" or "the 3rd" attached to their names, so I decided that I was way better--I was the first, the last and the ONLY. Then I got to college and found another music major named Megan E. Cooper. Go figure.
(If you can't read my writing, it says, "Megan Elizabeth Cooper Super Dooper Pooper Scooper the loopity looper the first, the last, the ONLY!" Even then, I had a way with words.)
In my teenage years, I stuck to a plain blue notebook. This actually lasted into college. Don't you love how I modified the "Mead" logo into "Megan?"
At the bottom of the box is a calendar that I bought in London to help keep track of the plays I saw, the places I visited, and other important events. I then used it to make my scrapbook as chronological as possible.
In our first Folsom house, I had a fabulous bedroom. It was big, it had two windows (including one with a window seat), and Mom and Dad wallpapered it with my choice--of course, it was musical. I kept scraps of the wallpaper and put them in a scrapbook.
It was a hoot going through my old memories.
