Almost at the end. Trying out a bit of CNF practice instead of the usual posts about me and my thoughts-- oh dammit.
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"Grandma wants to know if you've written anything new lately."
It's a question I dread hearing. Awful poetry? Check. Roleplaying with friends that I've passed off to my family as "collaborative writing" so that they don't think I'm completely wasting my time? Check. New stories that she can't even read because by now that computer-looking machine in the room that was once my grandpa's study won't help her see the words? Check.
There's a poem she has in the house, framed, in her kitchen. I wrote it seven years ago and she hasn't taken it down. My dad keeps telling me she liked that poem and that he liked that poem.
I hate that poem.
I look back on things and they're clumsy.
"We liked the story you wrote, about the girl and the violin."
The one I wrote six years ago. I hate that story.
For me, it's not like looking back on something and realizing I've improved. It's looking back and realizing it was never good, and what was I thinking when I wrote it? What are they thinking, praising it this far down the line like it's still some kind of work of art?
You tell your kid, "you're an artist!" when they smear fingerpaints on a large piece of paper, on your old shirt you loaned them as an art smock, on their skin. You tell your kid, "you write so well!" when they do a paper for school or when they write a poem that's decent for a young teenager with delicate emotions.
But I'm older than that and my grandma deserves something better in that frame than something composed on a dirty school bus, typed up and saved on a floppy disk because I didn't have a flash drive yet.
At the time, I thought it was good enough to share. Now, nothing is. I don't have achievements, I have scraps to hide away. I don't have things to be proud of, but she keeps thinking there is. She wants to be proud.
At the time, she would tell me she didn't think she'd live to see me graduate high school.
Then it was my brother.
Now here I am, six months from graduating college and she's still there, but I don't think she can see it anyway with how bad her eyes are.
I think, when I graduate, first I'll read off the text on my diploma. And after that, I'll read something that's mine.
I like this story because it shows how much a self-esteem can be damaged through out the years, even if that wasn't quite what you were going for. I used to be so confident in the songs I wrote, and now I don't reveal them to anyone. They suck. In fact, they are much better than my old ones, but according to my standards, they aren't good enough. High standards are something many college kids suffer from...sucking at tests, getting an "R" on a paper, and not effectively "going there" in a piece of writing. I think all we can really do though is improve. Things don't have to be perfect as long as we keep trying, right?
ReplyDeleteI liked your story. It's all true. There is that one piece of work that every family has that they are proud of. So I feel you there. but I believe you should look at the piece as a stepping stone. You should be able too look at your work and go, Ye you think that is good look at this. Knock their socks off every time! be proud of you works no matter how small or grand. It is all your work and was written for a reason !
ReplyDeleteI found this extremely relatable. I can picture the poem I wrote in seventh grade framed in my grandparents house. But aside from that I know how it feels to never be satisfied with anything you make. I'll make song after song, story after story, and rarely does any of it see the light of the day. I'm always thinking I just got to make the next one better than this and then I'll show people. Sometimes though I think you just have to put it out there. I've had things I've thought to be terrible be greatly enjoyed by others. As the creator I think we are always self-conscious about putting a piece of ourselves out there to be judged.
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