It's funny- being home brings back a lot of memories. In fact, you're surrounded by reminders of childhood joys and embarassments. In my bathroom here, for example, there is a framed copy of a poem that I wrote on the way to Florida.
Every summer of my entire life, we have gone to Florida for a week with our dear family friends, the Thompson's. This is a beloved tradition and we do it up right- no leaving the house except for the grocery store...& putt-putt trips during my youth.
For a long stretch, we always piled up into an old brown van owned by Mama Thompson's father. This van was special. It had two captain's chairs in the middle row. The back row of seats folded down into a flat bed in which my two older brothers and Greg Thompson would sit on my head and fart for the 7-hour drive (I was the youngest). It was in this loved dookie-brown van that I wrote this poem on the floor (seatbelts were optional) while passing through Mobile, Alabama in the summer of 1991. Without further ado:
Florida, by Camille Conville
(this recitation is by memory, I am currently in the living room)
Florida, the sunshine state
You can get a pole and fish with bait
Or you could be a pretty good captain's mate!
If you don't know what to do
go fishing or putt-putting too!
There's lots of good food to eat
from oranges to seafood meat.
If you have very tired feet,
sand can be fun and make a good seat.
I think you'll find Florida pretty neat!
Oh, I'm so glad that my parents chose to immortalize these words on the wall of the bathroom.