Remember When …

If you ever get stuck, searching for creative writing ideas, is there a scene or episode from your life that you can fictionalize?

Or

Creating characters based on people or composites of people you know is fun, too. (Just be sure to make enough changes to the character to protect the innocent).

Or

Another creative option is to turn an experience into a personal essay. Maybe write a “remember when…” piece. Here’s one to get you started:

Just Not Normal

Remember when you were a kid and discovered that grownups weren’t normal?

I made that discovery at age ten, during a family vacation to Maine. We were visiting my Great Aunt Margaret, a 73-year-old childless widow.

One morning, Margaret happened to pass through the kitchen while I was eating a banana. She pointed to a trashcan beside the refrigerator and said, “This is the non-food wastebasket.” On her way out of the room she added, “Food goes into the bin under the sink.”

When I was ten, they hadn’t invented recycling yet. I thought the only person who divided the world into food and non-food was Godzilla. Either that or Margaret just invented a new Jeopardy category. “Alex, I’ll take food or non-food for $800, please.”

Margaret returned just as I tossed the banana peel into the trashcan beside the refrigerator. She let out an irritated whiffle. “Didn’t I just say you weren’t supposed to put food in that can?”

I looked her in the eye and with the wisdom of a 10-year-old said, “You don’t eat banana peels, so it’s not food.”

Now that I’m an adult with no children, I’ve changed my mind about grownups. They’re fine. But kids? They’re just not normal. I learned that during a temporary job, assisting a teacher at a preschool.

Preschool is a lot like a three ring circus … when the tent falls down and all the people run away screaming, chased by the tigers and elephants.

At our preschool we had biters and fighters; schemers and screamers. Worst of all, were the juice box squeezers. When that little box got pinched by a toddler with a Kung Fu grip, it became a weapon. Juice spurted out of that little straw at the speed of light. It could take out your eye!

To protect us, we needed a super hero. I’ll call him “Perry.”

Every day, the first thing Perry did when he came in the room was grab the yellow cape from the dress-up box. And every day he’d ask me to tie the cape around his neck. Once it was on, he’d race around the room crying out, “I’m Super Hero!”

He didn’t want to be called Superman or Super Boy, or even Super Glue, even though food stuck to him. Depending on his moods, we could’ve named him, “Bratman.”

After making a full circuit of the room he’d come back to me and announce, “I’m Super Hero!”

“Are you really?” I wanted to say. “Then how come you didn’t stop little Dennis from hurling bean bags at Barry? How come I was the one who rescued Mimi from your arch nemesis, Mr. Snatch-a-Toy?”

We had crime in preschool and Perry wasn’t fighting it. Whoever heard of a super hero that didn’t fight crime? That’s just not normal.

Oh sure, he could eat like a super hero. I remember the school ice cream party. Perry sat at the table in his yellow cape, multicolored sprinkles and whipped cream all over his shirt and chocolate sauce around his mouth. He rubbed his stomach and announced to the room, “I feel the baby kicking in my belly.”

Either he belonged in Ripley’s Believe it or Not, or he was not normal.

We had so many “not normals” in that room that some days I wanted to plop down on one of their little cube chairs and make animal sculptures out of the Playdoh. If anybody came near me I wanted to growl, “Leave me alone, I’m making a snake!”

The best part of the job was playing with the toys, like the time we found a box of forgotten ukuleles in the closet.

If you’re of a certain age, a ukulele might bring back memories of Tiny Tim, playing “Tiptoe Through the Tulips.” My first reaction was, “Mini guitar! Let me see if I can tune this thing.”

Before I could tune the second string, that dastardly super villain, Mr. Snatch-a-Toy, yanked it out of my hands. Since I was the grown up I couldn’t fight him for it. Past experience told me Super Hero wouldn’t do anything either. Fortunately there were two other ukuleles, so I claimed another one.

When the teacher left the room for a few minutes I decided to calm the savages by putting on a show. Did I play, “Tiptoe Through the Tulips” or something Hawaiian? Of course not! I played, “Smoke on the Water.”

The kids stopped running to watch. I thought, “I’m a hit!”

The baffled expressions on their little faces told a different story. I can’t be sure, but I believe they were thinking, Grownups are not normal.