WRITING 101: My world at age 12

The following is part of a 20 day challenge to get into a better habit of blogging. Each day presents a new prompt. Today’s prompt Tell us about the home where you lived when you were twelve. Which town, city, or country? Was it a house or an apartment? A boarding school or foster home? An airstream or an RV? Who lived there with you?

(Photo courtesy  Brian Smithson/ Flickr Commons)

(Photo courtesy Brian Smithson/ Flickr Commons)


The swoosh of my bike down the steep hill sent my heart racing. Ready for takeoff. My two wheels of freedom and a wood ramp sent me soaring into space. My world this road and a patch of woods behind my parents’ house.

In those woods, lived bad guys and mysteries. Bullies and new adventure just around the corner. My bike traversed dirt paths. My suburb this odd oasis in rural Kentucky farm country.

“Time for supper!”

My friends and I would ride home, gulp down dinner and hope for a little more sunlight for just a little more play. We all lived in bi-level homes. All looked the same. Each with a set of parents. Some pleasant. Others filled with secret horrors that echo on through this day.

After supper, I would have to shake my annoying younger sister before going to the little clubhouse we built.

I am not sure where we got the nails, tools or wood. We imagined each new clubhouse more glorious than the last. Shacks. Sheds. Simple platforms.

We named our clubs. Admittance broke down by age groups. The high school kids had a mattress in their clubhouse. We didn’t know why we couldn’t play in it. The injustice. Feelings of being rejected. Later lessons in hormones and lust.

By dusk, the last call went out. I went home, took a shower, watched an hour worth of television. My mom downstairs. My dad upstairs. Two choices of what to watch before going to my bedroom at the end of the hall with its celery green walls and white, stucco ceiling. Small room — bed, dresser and desk inside.

Sometimes I would peek out the window across the street to see if my friend Chris’s bedroom light was still on. Occasionally, we waved. I could hear my sister getting ready for bed in the room next to mine.

How big and how small the world is at 12.


One thought on “WRITING 101: My world at age 12

  1. This feels like a race. The short, long sentences, and small paragraphs Moving the reader quickly through your 11 year old world. There is no lingering to remember or hold on to anything. Well done.

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