Exercise # 2
When I turned 5 my second cousin Tony sent me a record in the mail. It said, “Happy Birthday, Erin”, my first name. It was a 45 and came in a square envelope with cartoon drawings of a space man riding on the back of a rocket ship carrying a birthday cake held high above his head with lit candles. The record was thin, easily bent and cheap, but I loved it anyway.
When my mom put it on the turn table it started up with weird space music and then a song, “My name is Zoom/ and I come from the moon/ I came down to earth just to sing you this tune/ Hey, Erin, it’s your birthday…today!”
It was my name in a song, a record for me, about me and about all the creatures this space man wanted to bring me as birthday presents. He didn’t though, he wrote the song, that’s what he decided. That was the present, not a Wild Womp or a Tickle Chu and it worked for me.
The record got put away in a Mason shoebox, the one my mom had kept for me through the years filled with cards, birthday candles, that record and a few art projects and report cards. I never shined in school, but stuck away in that box, I shined with the stars.