Antibiographic

In which our Hero is pinned to a page in time and grace

So when my young cousin dug up a picture of nerd-me at 16 [still not going to share], with dozens of sci-fi books in front of me, and my starship models behind me, it was for an assignment to write in the style of the author they were studying, who in the excerpt they were mimicking was recapping the backstory that went with an old picture. Thus the interview-by-email last minute request for help with her assignment.

I told her bits I could think of, and apologized for not having been all that interesting in high school. And in the end, she found a picture about her mother, which is what she used for the essay she submitted. But she wrote both essays and sent both to me. And now I’m feeling touched and a little startled. I don’t get seen all that often. Or I just don’t know. And I don’t often get to know what got seen when someone looked.

The opening:

Portrait of a One-Time Dweeb

Look at this picture, really take it in. Notice the meticulously made Star Trek ship models and glorious stacks of sci-fi books, the ironed shirt tucked into jeans and glasses that cover a third of his face. Perhaps you see a tragically nerdy boy, or maybe one whose parents had a cruel sense of humour. However, if you’re one of the lucky ones like me, you see a completely different story in this photograph. You see, this picture is the reason I know there’s hope in my future. Why? Because this awkward boy with the serious expression is also possibly the coolest person I know.

And how awesome is this one: Unlike with the routine most people suffer through, I can’t always assume what he’s been up to. I like to think he goes with the wind.

I’ll spare you the rest of the read of a teenager’s school essay about me. But it’s sweet and loving and makes a decent epitaph. It reflects how I’ve seen these kids and it lets me know they’ve felt it. That aside, I’m impressed at her style. It’s well written, and structured. I’ve been noticing her not be the spacey baby, here and there. She’s very different from me. Now she’s a very different nerd.

I need to figure out what I used to call her here. See comes up from time to time and I can never remember. And I need to give her a hard time. She called me a dweeb! I was never a dweeb. Nerd, sure. Geek, still. Dweeb? Maybe, but that’s pot calling the diffraction grating black.

(Geek still. Boo-yah!!)