Autobiography
I am Kathleen, called Katie. I am 14. I am 50 percent thoughtful, 50 percent outgoing, and 100 percent awesome. You could say that that’s the story of my life and it would be 99 percent accurate, but everybody likes to dive in deeper, right?
Past
On November 29th, year MCMXCII (that’s 1992 for all you who are not versed in Roman numerals), I was born. Wow. I don’t remember my early childhood much. My earliest memory is being in the snow in Spokane, Washington, year 1994. I was two, and there was a big house with a fireplace in it. My hat and jacket were pink, and my nose was cold. I only remember this because of a photograph of that moment. I also remember being at a park, 6 AM, year 1995, telling my father I hated him, having had heard the phrase on TV. A sign of things to come? Possibly.
My schooling started off awkwardly enough. I only attended preschool for 3 months because it “was too easy”. After that I began kindergarten. I remember walking into kindergarten on the first day and somehow being brave enough to walk up to this one boy and ask him to be my friend. A sign of things to come yet again? Maybe.
First grade marked a turning point for me. I was being recognized for my intelligence. Having had taught myself how to read at the age of three, I would sit in front of the other kids when we watched cartoons and I would read the titles to the class because they didn’t know how. The teacher had me subsitute one day while she went out to run errands (irresponsible teacher if ever there was one). Unfortunately, this was during nap-time, and I wanted to nap too, so I curled up under the teacher’s desk and fell asleep on the job.
The rest of my first-grade years went smoothly enough. I got sent to time-out a lot because there was a girl, Kamie, whose name was pronounced almost exactly like mine, and when the teacher would call my name I thought she was calling the other girl, so I didn’t do anything. But after I finished first grade, my family moved, taking me with them. I started second grade in a whole new school.
Second grade proved to be much like preschool, in the way that I only remained in it for a few months. My teacher had noticed that I was more intelligent than the other students, and she decided to hold a conference with the principal and my parents. They then called me in and asked me if I wanted to go to third grade. What they meant, of course, was if I wanted to skip second grade and jump to third. But I interpreted it as if I wanted to go to third grade EVER, so I said yes, and the next week I got my brand-new third grade schedule. I was very confused, and remained so for the rest of the year.
I was a shy kid. I had been ever since first grade. That is, I was shy in the way that I didn’t like going up to others and talking to them. I had no problem with going up on stage or performing. So when I heard about a talent show in my fourth grade year, I decided to sign up. I was a pretty brave kid, going up onstage and painting a picture. It was a pretty standard fourth-grade picture - tree, house, grass, flower. But people seemed to like it, and I was even on the school news. I didn’t watch me on the TV though. I was too busy cowering with shyness behind my desk.
I was teased. A lot. I was young, I was short, I had a speech impediment where I said “sh” instead of “ch”. This one girl would make me say “How much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?” in front of everybody. Of course, nowadays I’d hit anybody that told me to do that and I’d also tell them “The woodchuck wouldn’t chuck your boyfriend’s wood cause he ain’t got any”. But back then I just did it and lived with the humiliation. The impediment has since disappeared.
In fifth grade I continued my conquest of the stage, and I also continued being extremely shy around other individuals. I played a bird and a game-show contestant in a school play (don’t ask how the two were possibly related, it’s a long story). I also ran for student government secretary - and lost to a tall dorky girl with dry hair and giant glasses. How she beat me I’ll never know. She fell asleep in half the meetings anyway.
Sixth grade began in the middle school campus of my elementary school. The classes were held in trailers and the cafeteria was home to rats bigger than hot dogs. I had a creepy male teacher hit on me and ask me out - the only guy to ever do so. In the end I left that school and joined a charter school, where hopefully I would be teased less.
My middle school days are a blur. No, really. I’m not just saying that to get out of typing about them. In sixth grade I got my first crush and assumed it was love and that he was my boyfriend, even though I hadn’t even spoken to him. I really was clueless back then. In seventh grade I fell even harder for a different guy (it wasn’t even that hard at all, now that I think about it) and assumed it was love, although now I knew the difference between boyfriend and crush. In eigth grade I fell for a sixteen-year-old high school sophomore, and assumed that it was love, even though it was simply infatuation.
In eigth grade I started hanging out with new people. They were outgoing and spontaneous, and I became outgoing and spontaneous too. In the winter of my eighth grade year I made a ten-day trek to Los Angeles, California to visit my half-sister and her husband. That’s a blur too, although I remembered every single detail yesterday. Hmm.
Ninth grade… wow, where to begin? With the beginning, I suppose. I’ll make it brief because I don’t feel like writing about it now. I am “Girl”. Girl meets new girl. New girl befriends girl. Girl finds new girl creepy. New girl calls others names, makes girl do so too. New girl drags girl into ongoing vendetta against society new girl has. New girl makes poison to feed to others. Girl is freaked out. Girl keeps mouth shut. Girl gets fed up for the last time with new girl, stops hanging out with new girl. New girl clueless as to why. Girl tells teacher about murder plots, name-calling new girl has done. Girl breaks down. New girl dragged to principal’s office, yet not punished at all for actions. Girl very, very angry. Girl does not forgive new girl. Ever. The end.
So that’s the story of one of my friends. For the whole first semester, that went on. But right before winter break, right before I told the school about the new girl, I joined the Mock Trial team, and this would change my life forever…
Over winter break I met with the rest of the team. I played a witness - the coroner, actually - and it was challenging but so much fun. Before, I had been shy (despite my friends in eighth grade), but thanks to Mock Trial I became more outgoing and, quite frankly, happier, optimistic, and talkative. I loved the changes, and everybody else did too. Mock Trial turned my entire personality around, and it also marked several new developments. In Mock Trial I met my boyfriend (whom I asked out, so the statement earlier - that only one guy has ever asked me out - holds true), I befriended new people, and I became more ambitious and developed severe workaholic tendencies.
Present
Now, in the second semester of my freshman year of high school, I’m the person I want to be, finally. I’m outgoing and friendly. I participate in the school community a lot - I chaired a schoolwide meeting and implemented new changes to it that revolutionized it, if I do say so myself. Think quieter students who pay attention to the speaker, assigned seating so nobody sits by their friends, and more participation. The day I chaired the meeting was one of the best days of my life. I was so proud and so happy that I had made a difference. I’m also currently working hard on several school commitees and individual projects to benefit the community - I’m planning an end-of-the-year field trip, I’m organizing a Parent Involvement commitee, I’m planning a school talent show, I’m working on organizing a student government/Model UN group, I’m teaching a class at school on debate and speaking skills, AND I’m a student political activist. I enjoy having all this work to do. Oh, and in addition, I will be traveling to Miami, Florida in the summer to teach a workshop at a convention for the coalition that my school is a member of. I’m a busy girl. I’m proud of myself. I’ve accomplished so much in my short time on this earth - or rather, my VERY short time as an outgoing member of a community.
I have a small group of friends whom are very dear to me. They are more of a family to me than my parents are. I will talk to absolutely anybody (except my murderous ex-best-friend, who will never be forgiven by me. She made my life hell, after all), but I would rather talk to my friends. I have several - two girls, a guy, and a teacher. My friendship with the teacher had been frowned upon by my peers, who assume that it is a sexual relationship. The ignoramuses don’t know that it IS possible to be friends with a teacher in a purely platonic way. The teacher helped me through a lot of crap (read: murderous ex-best-friend, verbal abuse by parents, various projects) and I figure the best way to repay him is by holding intelligent conversation with him (because, quite honestly, nobody else in the school is going to be able to do that).
Let’s see… past, present… what’s missing? Oh, yes. Future!
Future
I’ve wanted to be a photographer, mayor, artist, film producer, lawyer, paralegal, interior designer, fashion designer, detective, pathologist (I blame my excellent portrayal of a coroner in Mock Trial), and even more things I’ve forgotten. Oddly enough, I’ve never wanted to be a fireman or a doctor, what most people want to be. But right now, I want to become a teacher. I know this in my heart. I’m rarely so sure of anything. I’ve begun preparation early - I teach a class at school, I plan on volunteering as an elementary school aide, and my ambitions can’t be hurt by the fact that I take my work seriously. Except geometry. Screw geometry.
I plan to get married someday, and not just so that I can abandon my family name. The fact that my ancestor is Alexander Graham Bell, inventor (or patenter, anyway) of the telephone is the only part of my heritage that I am proud of, and I haven’t even got his last name, so hell. I’ll take the guy’s name, unless it’s something along the lines of “Flamboozle”. No. Just no to that one. Anyway, I also plan to have one child, because I don’t think I’ll be able to handle any more. I like to think ahead, so I’ve pretty much already picked out baby names. If I have a girl, I’ll name her either Constantine (I blame my love of world history - Constantine was a Roman emperor, but the name can be used as a girl’s one too - and the Something Corporate song “Konstantine”), Rebecca (it’s fun to say - it reminds me of berries) or Andrea (It’s a nice name - and I can call her Andy! I love saying the name Andy). If it’s a boy, I’ll name him something simple and traditional, like John or Liam.
I’m a strong person. I used to be depressed (and not that “teenage” depression, actual clinically-diagnosed depression), but I’ve overcome that and I don’t break down anymore. The last time I cried, I cried from happiness - something I haven’t done ever until my personality change - and laughter. I smile a lot, and I see the glass as half-full. I follow the philosophy of “nobody can find you beautiful until you find yourself beautiful, nobody can love you until you love yourself”. This explains why, up until recently, nobody called me beautiful, nobody loved me. But I think I’m beautiful. I love myself. And I’m happy.
This has been an autobiography of everybody’s favorite girl, Katie. You have just forgotten that your fly is down. Ha, bet you looked down!