You’re 12 years old. It’s your birthday. Write for ten minutes on that memory. GO.
I had started to get a real personality at age 12, this was 1986. I tried to make my own decisions and have things my way, like many tweens.
That year my mom had started letting me make my own wardrobe decisions. That was the year of red, white, and black clothes. This was long before goth. I didn’t wear all black, my emphasis was red. I tried to have red in every outfit. (The red stuck to this day.) I was definitely done with pastels.
I had also tried to do new and ‘inventive’ things with my hair. It was short and layered, but I let the top grow out and I did a sort of comb-over thing. Hey, I was twelve. My friends were using Sun-in in their hair, but my parents wouldn’t let me, but we had peroxide in the medicine cabinet. So I ended up with a bleached section in the front. Oh yeah, I was HOT! Well, believe it or not I started a trend with both these hair decisions and boy did I get in trouble with my parents. Of course I denied that I did anything…it must have been the curling iron. 🙂
Here I was making all these decisions for myself and I was done with my parents planning my birthday. So I started planning. I made invitations that looked like tuxedos and I wrote in calligraphy. They really looked good. I wanted everyone to wear my colors to the party. I was so excited to hand them out. I made enough for the whole class. I planned out the food and the activities. I used all my money to buy decorations. Not only was it the first party that I planned, but it was my first boy-girl party.
The guys all started telling me they were coming, but the girls weren’t responding. As the party approached, my best friend had to go away for the weekend with her family and they wouldn’t let her stay with me. All my other girlfriends couldn’t come for one reason or another. No girl responded yes. My parents told me I had to cancel; I couldn’t have a party with just boys coming.
But it wasn’t a slumber party, just pizza, snacks, music, and volleyball (we had a net). I somehow got my parents to not call it off. The boys came and we had a decent time. I think it only lasted a couple hours, but I pulled it off.
Later that week, after the party, I found out the truth. Everyone who didn’t come to my party went to another’s girl’s birthday pool party who was in a different class.
My best friend still stuck to her story for three more years. When she finally told me, I was visiting her for a week in a different state where she had moved to. She told me in the first hour of my visit and she thought it was funny and that I would understand. Boy was that a long week. We never talked again.
My response to The Daily Prompt.
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