It Started with Being Petty

Ah, the good ole' days.

As a kid, I was kind of a menace. But I like to think I was a menace in cleverer ways than most other kids. I was told constantly by the adults in my life that I was so kind and caring and gentle. Now of course, as a child, I had my very obvious moments that proved quite the contrary. But my temperament very much matched the descriptions they gave me. What they didn't realize though, was that both of my parents were also very smart. And so, after I learned the tricks they used to tell if I was lying or being deceitful, I realized I had to step up my game.

This all created a very competitive spirit inside of me. Anytime I was challenged, I was going to win. And as a kid, I knew that my age gave me a degree of forgiveness.

In kindergarten, I felt my first understanding of passion. You know that obnoxious kid who finishes their addition and subtraction pages quickly and then passive aggressively flips their page over loud enough that the class knows they finished first? Oh, that was so me.

But when my teacher did reading time, she dimmed the lights, and she would sit on her worn-out stool in the front of the room and read a simple chapter book to us. I had previously only really known how to spell my name and read sight words. The books I was read up to this point were short picture books at home. This was my first experience listening to a longer story that didn't have pictures. I was absolutely floored when I realized that even with my eyes open and seeing, I was lulled into the words enough that I could watch the story. It was playing in my mind; I could see the faces of the characters.

And with the emotional maturity of a five-year-old, I got frustrated with my teacher because the poor woman just could not read fast enough for long enough. I wanted more. I immediately went home and started bugging my dad to buy me the same exact book. I got the book and read it as fast as I could. I do remember smugly that I finished that book at home before we finished it in the classroom.

I was also introduced to the reading points system used in lots of schools. AR points. You read a book, take a small quiz that tests your comprehension of the story, and then you get points.

Oh man, as soon as I learned how to check a book out of the library and then found out there were POINTS? You better believe it made a monster out of me. Luckily my competitive and confrontational nature was being used in the right direction. I did hit a boy across the face with a clipboard one time in elementary. But he had made an offensive comment about my sister and when posed with a "whatcha gonna do about it?" response to my very calm suggestion that he shut up, I let him know exactly what I was gonna do.

Considering the fact I gave him a warning; I feel I handled that situation well. I suppose I did also push a kid off the slide too. But they were climbing up behind me and for some reason chose to bite me hard enough to draw blood. We weren't high up and the kid was fine, full disclosure.

Anyways, point being, I was a very good student.

My teacher wanted to make AR points fun, and she loved frogs, so she covered some cabinets with paper lily-pads and each lily-pad went up by ten or so points. All of us students got our own frog with our name on it and however many points we got; our frog "jumped" up to a higher lily-pad. Admittedly, a super cute way to do that, remember to give your teachers some love.

This was my favorite game, watching the other children in the room deflate as I slowly surpassed their lily-pad and made their goals even less feasible with each AR test I took. I was an absolute lunatic, I swear.

I was reeling with so many new words and how the worlds in my brain came to life. And then power-drunk on my lily-pad monopoly campaign. It seemed like these characters could do anything in the world and that they would be understood by me.

I had come to believe that my poor classmates were no match for my AR skills, and then I was humbled one day when a new kid transferred into our class. This new boy came into class, and it didn't cross my mind to wonder how many points he had, I was at least a hundred points over everyone else.

A few days later, Ms. Adams stuck a new frog up on the scoreboard and my heart dropped. I had officially been dethroned by this quiet new kid. He was nearly two-hundred points over me. I was shocked and a little envious.

But sure enough, I felt a fire in my chest to beat him. I started checking out bigger books, or short books with a higher comprehension score for the sake of getting more bang for my buck. I was a reading fool. I didn't actually care about the books I was reading, and I started learning to start the test, read the question, and then skim the story for a quick answer. However, I soon exhausted the short and easy chapter books. So, I started moving up a grade in reading. I was desperate to beat that new kid.

One day as I was stalking my next victim in the library, a massive book caught my eye. There was a dragon on it, and it was huge. I looked in the cover for the little sticker that says how many AR points it was worth and my jaw dropped. I would most certainly beat the new kid and far surpass him if I read this one.

Eragon, by Christopher Paolini.

Oh, I could already see the defeat of my academic rival (he was actually very sweet and kind and had no idea I was steaming in the back of the classroom comparing books and plotting his froggy demise).

I took the book to my librarian. I liked her a lot too, she sometimes would read to our class, and she had that storyteller's tongue. A very high-value skill in my personal opinion. Understandably, she took one look at my twinkle toe sneakers and chubby cheeks before she said no.

But she did not know what she just started. It was something much deeper than this race for the highest AR score. Her simply telling me "No" placed the book at a much higher value than before.

I tried, but she was a very stubborn lady. Even though I was mad at her for denying me the book, I also had a sense of respect that she didn't cave into my usual persuasion tactics (the professional I was as someone who still couldn't even ride a bike).

Honestly, I annoyed the hell out of the librarian. Eventually anytime she would see me, she would raise her eyebrows, purse her lips, and shake her head no before pointing at books in the second grade/third grade range.

It only made me want that book more. I had officially waged war on the quiet new kid and the stubborn librarian. But I was stubborn too.

I would like the record to show that I did beat the new kid before the school year was through. I just read a ton of other books. He did eventually notice my frightening determination to catch up to his score and he did start reading faster too, but he noticed too late.

For my entire first-grade year, I spent the same amount of energy trying to check out that dang Eragon book. Same answer. But I was in it for the long run. I was going to read that book before I reached the suggested grade. Finally, near the end of my second-grade year, my librarian gave up and I finally convinced her to let me check out this book. Not only was I pleased to have finally won, but my curiosity about this book was burning.

I got home and I don't think I even acknowledged my parents before running into the backyard and up into my treehouse. I lived in Washington State, and I was lucky enough to grow up alongside the evergreen trees and the soft moss and the mystic fog that I would go on to read about in Eragon. I really felt like I was there. The air was cold, and I often would need to steal a blanket from the house and wrap up in it as I read. I would sneak crackers and other simple foods that I reasoned Eragon would eat as he began his journeys.

Other stories I previously read did the movie thing, the thing I spoke about before. But this truly was different. I grew so attached to Eragon as I learned more about him, it felt like what a friendship should feel like. I must admit, I had friends at school, but I didn't think they understood me much. I understood them very well, but for some reason when I went past my surface and spoke about things more deeply, they never understood. We of course, were all young and the only way I knew how to express deeper thoughts was poetically, like the characters in the stories I was reading.

But what Eragon stood as was an element of myterical wonder. The drive to school each morning included dragons flying along with me, elves flitting along the moody mountains, and monsters creeping just off of the chilly Pacific coast.

I did not get to finish the story before the school year ended though. I was so determined to pick back up where I left off that I memorized my first ever thing...the page number I was on. Let it be known, I am not a memory person especially with numbers. It's a very frustrating flaw. But I remembered that page number. Page 357.

Summer passed and third grade started. Suddenly, I was slapped with the news that our family was moving to Houston, Texas. I cannot even describe how opposed I was to leave my home state. But the power was not in my control. We moved, yes it was hot, yes people really do say "Y'all", and yes, I started saying it too.

A year and a half later, I finally started accepting these changes and started really enjoying the differences. And then I was Bautista-bombed with the news that we were moving right back to Washington. There were so many changes to my life that I hadn't been able to try and find Eragon in my new library. But it didn't matter because we were moving back into the same house, same town, same school.

We moved back into Washington and the mystical feeling came back.

I checked Eragon back out and tried to pick up where I left off. Except I didn't remember anything anyways, so I just ended up restarting.

But I was older and more competent than before, and the story was jumping out of the page and even inspired me to want to start writing more seriously. I didn't need to steal crackers because I could taste the hog-roasts and the bread and the wine and the cheeses. It was so real.

At the same time, I and my younger siblings received the worst news we could've possibly imagined. Our parents were separating. A while later, they let us know they were divorcing. Now, this was my dad and my stepmother, as my mom lived somewhere else with her husband. But all four parents were a part of my life from the beginning, and for the first time in my life, I was truly gutted. I never knew my parents when they were together, and they got along as co-parents, this was my first experience watching love turn sour.

I remember reading this fantastical book while my real world burned.

As I was reading about Eragon and the trials he faced, I sat in my room listening to the wars in my own living room. When trusted allies and friends brought Eragon back from the deep, I sat in my room where my younger siblings would crawl up into bed with me because they were confused and hurt and scared. I started reading the Eragon series to them and began making up my own tales and stories of hope.

When I decided I would never want anything to do with alcohol, I found comfort when Eragon decided to not eat meat due to his ability to feel the creature's thoughts before being put to death.

In this time, my dog also passed away due to cancer. And I may be biased, but he was the smartest dog that ever lived. As a kid who had never faced death of someone you love, I could only look to the pages as Eragon faced deaths of those he loved too.

I grew up with this story that started first as a silly fight for AR points, and then a petty standoff with my librarian, and watched it turn into the only thing I felt like I had left.

My twenty-first birthday is in less than a week and it has given me lots to think about. During that time, my dad got cancer too and started treatment. I was living with my mom and realized that my stepdad was actually a very mean person, and I really was the red-headed stepchild. My mom many years later began the process to divorce him and old wounds resurfaced. I was more prepared for it this time and felt confident that I could actually protect my siblings on my mom's side. And then the Covid pandemic hit, and we all got locked in together during the height of the worst family tension. There was a lot of heavy and unhealthy circumstances that I felt like I just couldn't get away from.

I had not read for a very long time. At this point, I had been taught to be silenced, and when I looked inside, it was gray. I did not have any opinions or dreams, I did not see the moss or the fog or anything except for the tunnel that got me out of bed in the morning and back into bed at night, only to lay awake for hours in pain trying to think of what to do.

I was at a book sale one day and found an old beat-up copy of Eragon. I bought it, not with the intention to read it, I think I only bought it because it was the closest thing I had to the last time I felt I was alive.

I didn't touch the book again for a long time. Every time I looked; some fragment of my family was lighting itself on fire again. I had no idea what to do.

Finally, I did pick the book back up and started reading. It was actually a very emotional process for me to feel so vividly the nostalgia of my early years and the loss that came with them.

I wanted so badly for so many years to be recognized by someone, by anyone. As the oldest sibling in both households, I felt my place was to be the easy one. The one who the parents didn't need to spare what little energy they had left to worry about. It had become my identity and yet I couldn't help but selfishly wish I could lower the polite facade and make it known what was going on at the core.

I have only re-read a few books in my life, and Eragon is one that I will continue to re-read. The themes and internal and external conflicts are so magnificent and yet so personal to me.

I am happy to report that my nature and nurture work together now. I am at peace and yet my mountains rumble deep. I think it was one of the luckiest things for me to have this book at the key moments I did.

I know I am still alive when I have to suppress a smile at work because the partitions in my office cubicle is actually a dwarf mine. Or when the park I am sitting at contentedly is actually where ancient clans are meeting to discuss a war strategy for the evil of the South.

I thought that my worth was valued in how quickly I grew up and how quickly I grew a tough skin to life's disappointments.

But I believe now with all of my soul that the worth of life is in how you can return to the child inside of you, and how she can sit with you and reteach you how the world should be seen. For me, that is a world with stories and songs that mirror what I learned from Christopher Paolini, and I want it to be known how grateful I am for the part that played.