I tasked the blog staff with bringing to life a historical period. Penny chose to return to the earliest moments of her life, to those moments she was too young to recall. After doing some research with her mother, she pieces together what those moments might have looked like to an older “Penny” who visits and observes.
Blog Advisor Zachik
By Penny Andreas, Middle-School Blog Correspondent
December 31, 2009
The hallways were quiet. I walked down the maroon hallway, the floor creaking underneath. I heard laughter. I heard a mother, with a sweet and caring voice. A father, speaking with pride. As I walked through the hall, a door appeared. I slowly walked up to it. I held the cold bronze door handle, connected to the dark oak door. I opened it, finding a small room with a couch, table, TV, and a bookshelf. The mother was sitting on the floor, holding her child. And the father, sitting on the couch reading. I walked around the room, noticing small things. The fish bowl. The one chair in the corner. The stack of cards on the table. My mother. I walked up to her and sat down. She sang to the baby, “Hush little baby, don’t say a word. Momma’s gonna find you a hummingbird.” I immediately recognized the song. She sang it to me every night. My small crib. My blankets. My walls painted purple. My dark brown desk. My fluffy blue carpet.
My father takes the baby to sit on the couch and turns on the TV. He plays a show. It’s black and white, with many characters. He looks at the baby, and says, “Penny.”
December 27, 2011
I’m walking down the hallway again. The floor is not wood, but concrete. This time, to my left is the door, and it’s light brown with a copper handle. I open the door, but this time I’m in a different room. It’s big, and open. There’s a small bed sitting in the corner, along with a nightstand. There are numerous drawings hanging on the walls, obviously made by a toddler. At the window, there’s a girl seated, playing with toys. The curtains are open so light comes through. She talks to herself, perhaps solving a conflict. I walk towards her and realize she does not see me. Instead of talking to her, I sit next to her. I start to understand what she’s saying. “The princess is locked up in the tower! Someone must save her!!!” I laugh to myself, amused by her emotions and such enthusiasm. Then I look at her face, and realize…it’s my face.
December 24, 2013
Walking through the hallways again, it’s not plain. The same drawings are on the wall, and photos of that same girl with my face and my name. I stopped abruptly in the hallway. Could that girl have been me? Suddenly I found myself in a hotel room, the great windows showing a view of downtown. The two king-sized beds packed with sheets are in the corner. I see three suitcases. I remember seeing them somewhere. One of them is open, with a gift inside. I find the little girl again, sitting on the floor. She is speaking to someone, with a nervous crack in her voice. “Do you think my mom will be okay? Am I really going to be a sister?” I know who she’s talking to. I know exactly who it is. My grandma. And I know exactly who the girl is. I know exactly who I am.
