This is the first in a series exploring adolescence and middle school written by students at The Culver City Middle School in the Spring of 2024. Place shapes us, and especially these very specific years. This piece was written by an 8th grader, now a rising 9th grader.
By Regan Spellman
I used to go to my grandma’s house everyday
And everyday I would walk in that house just as excited to see her that day as the last
To me it was a gift it was a treasure
I would march in the house and race my twin to see who could jump on grandpa first and sit down at the table
Time and time again I lost cause I would run to grandpa and stay
stomping around the room and declare my love for him
I would climb in his hospital bed sit on his great big stomach and feel his breathing machine rise and fall under me
“Grandpa!” I would shout with a smile giving him a hug
He would smile at me
And for just a little bit we would play or talk
though I regret to say I can’t remember what we talked about
Eventually grandpa’s caretaker would then pick me up and send me to the dining room.
Next to the red couch and in the center of the main room
Just like everyday I was presented with a fruit platter of incredible design strawberries, apples. and blackberries my favorite
Admiring the fruit I would go to the right end of the island in the middle kitchen
Pull out a chair and sit next to my twin
“How lucky I am to have you” my grandma would say But I never appreciated that
I was too busy with my fruit
“And what would you like to drink today?” my grandma would ask
Everyday we had the same options
Hot chocolate
Water
Chocolate milk
Strawberry milk
Or what I would choose the combo
a combo is a mixture of strawberry and chocolate powder in milk and shaken
Our very special drinks
Our very special breakfasts
“And what do you want to eat”
She would ask
Everyday I had the same choices
Scrambled eggs and toast
Cheerios and milk
Savory oatmeal
Waffles
And a bagel
My order would change by day but my sister always ate waffles
And so my grandma would talk to us as she prepared the food
But she spoke in a special way like we were humans and not just babies and she would say funny words to me like supper, or words in yiddish I thought she made up or discovered
She would answer our every question and respond to issues with suggestions
Like we were loved and not just cute
She would serve me my food arranged so beautifully you’d conclude
I was truly grateful
But I wasn’t
I never stopped to think that this was a show of love
She didn’t have to make me food or thereof
And I took for granted what never changed
It was too late once we were estranged
When I didn’t feel like “coming over”
Cause it was expendable my grandmas closure
I hated that she understood “I was getting older”
She’d say I understand I was so rebellious maybe even colder
I may have been six but I was smart
I knew my Grandpa wouldn’t be here by the years next start
I wished grandma wanted me back
As much I wanted her there
Still I never thought she was hurting too
Your little baby was growing up and she doesn’t need you
In her own way she asked me there but I just couldn’t understand
She was so lost but didn’t ask for my hand
My grandma really shaped who I am
She taught me all about my people, religion, and life
Matter a fact she taught me how to love even in strife
In times of trials she was the thing that never changed
Even when I really messed she kept me arranged
I wish I could go back and spend every moment with them both
When they needed me I was stuck on growth
The thing about grief is that the world doesn’t stop
Even when you desperately need the person you lost
I still came home and watched TV
I still struggled with emotions and couldn’t just weep
The thing about grief
Is that everyday the world is less sweet
There’s something bugging you that it’s incomplete
You never know when it’s your last goodbye I repeat
Go out there and tell your family, and friends that you love them
Before it’s too late and you regret in a few summers
And now almost every week I go to my grandmas house
And every week I’m just as excited to see her that time as the last
To me it’s a gift, it’s a treasure
And I march in her house waving to her boyfriend
Pass the red couch in the center of the main room
And pass the island in which I used to eat
All the way upstairs until her I greet
Regan is an aspiring author and poet. She has always loved to read and dreams of writing a book. It was during a 7th grade poetry unit, that she finally found her inspiration and style. She soon fell in love with the art of poetry. Ever since, shes been writing novels, short stories, and lots of poetry. Her writing style is a unique mixture of storytelling and poetry. When she’s not writing, Regan enjoys video games, gardening, and cooking.
Wanderlust 