See, I like that title because there's a little rhyme there...
This is my autobiography, which I started writing when I was thirteen, which was… ooh, more than a decade ago now, I think. It’s not important, is it? Anyway, when I was thirteen, my English teacher made everyone in the class start writing an autobiography. You wouldn’t think a thirteen year old really had much to write about, but I recently found my old English workbook with my autobiography written in it, and looking back now I’d have to say those first thirteen years were the most exciting time of my life. So there’s an indicator of how thrilling the later episodes of this thing are going to be.
When you’re young you’re still learning about the world, everything is a new experience, days seem to go on much longer, you’re not aware of the endless mind numbing drudgery that is your future… not that it’s all bad when you grow up though. You can drive a car, for example, or go into the cinema to watch an 18 certificate film… although admittedly I was probably the only one of my class not already doing those things when he was thirteen. Let’s not drift off topic though.
To prepare us for our task, we were made to read ‘Aunt Becky’s Wedding and Other Traumas’ by Jean Holkner, a series of short stories about a Jewish family growing up in Australia. I’m not going to talk much about that though; I’ll be damned if I can really remember anything that happens, and kids just have a natural resentment of having to read anything they haven’t chosen for themselves. I am tempted to look at it again now, but I’m currently having a hard time getting hold of a copy.
The other thing the teacher made us do was write a list of things we should think about when writing an autobiography, or key incidents in our lives, and this is it:
A memorable holiday – I can’t really think… well, I guess that proves I haven’t had any or I’ll have remembered it.
Embarassing moments – certainly have been a few of those. Although when I was thirteen the most embarrassing things I could think of were wetting myself in class when I was eight, losing a race to a girl, and acne.
Learning to walk/ride a bicycle/ some word I can’t make out in thirteen year old me’s handwriting. It’s either stink or slate or skate.
Making new friends / Friendships and falling out – I can remember falling out with my friends once, because they wouldn’t believe me when I said the Sun was bigger and further away than the Moon. I got a glimpse of what it was like to be an astronomer in medieval times; very frustrated.
Accidents – usually, I just blamed it on one of my younger brothers when these happened.
Relationships with my brothers – They were mostly just there to provide me with entertainment, weren’t they? Although they could be a nuisance too.
Family traumas – Well, in my last blog entry I mentioned that my younger brother stole my peace dollar, didn’t I?
The opposite sex / first date / falling in love – I hadn’t had a date or been in love when I was thirteen. Although I can remember the first time ever being aroused by something, which had been a few years before. It was Pamela Stephenson in Superman 3, when she’s reading Kant’s ‘Critique of Pure Reason’; absolutely gorgeous (okay, so it wasn’t really the book she was reading that turned me on when I was ten, although I think you all knew that).
My future / first job – these hadn’t happened yet either, which is just as well because if I’d known what the future would be when I was in school, I’d have just given up on the whole stupid exercise.
Anyhow, what I am going to do now is start deciphering and posting my autobiography from when I was thirteen, maybe making a few updates/revisions/changing the names of those involved so as to protect their actual identities… and that will all gradually spill out onto this blog, along with some other garbage.
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