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[edit] Identity Paper 1st Rough Draft

Marie Carbone

English 112 Rough Draft

Due Date: September, 25th

For the majority of my life I grew up in a small farming town in Massachusetts named South Deerfield. I live in a cream-colored, L shaped ranch with a purple flowered mailbox. We have a handful of gardens: a perennial garden, a vegetable garden, an herb garden, a woods garden, etc. I’m spoiled to have been able to eat home-cooked, homegrown food since I was a little girl. We also have ten, also very spoiled chickens, that live in our backyard. Their coop contains a screened-in porch even nicer than ours and an elaborate heating system for the wintertime.

I live on a very quiet street in a very friendly neighborhood. I was never really allowed to watch TV as a child, so I was always forced to go outside and find things to do. Luckily there is a convenience store right down the road from me. A good amount of my amusement came from walking there with friends. Sometimes my mom would give us money to walk down to the store and buy milk or something else necessary. If there was change we would stock up on Cowtails. We were forced to eat them before we walked back to my house though, because my mom did not approve of sugary treats and would have undoubtedly taken them away from us... especially before dinner.

My mom is a dental hygienist, which explains most of her concern over sugary candy and cereal. Even so, I’ve had a handful of cavities, but I’ve never had braces. My mom is from Stoneham, MA a town outside of Boston. She has seven other siblings, she is Irish and Scottish and she is a fantastic quilter. (Marie, it's totally random. What thread holds it together? What core holds ::you together?)

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday, because every year my mom’s side of the family comes down from the Boston area to my house to give thanks. Auntie Kim brings the most amazing appetizers and we usually all have a good amount of food in us before the feast even begins. After we eat, we nap, and then we all gather around my dining room table and play games such a Pictionary, Charades, or even Karaoke. There’s always a fire going in the background. After these festivities, we usually eat again.

My father is Italian. (different than your mom's ethnicities - anything here that informs us about you?) He grew up in Norwood, MA, which is also on the outskirts of Boston. He had 6 other siblings, only one of which was another boy. My father was captain of his football team, president of his class and got into every college he applied to.

There is never much peace and quiet in my house because of my father. (does this contradict your opening about "a very quiet street" in "a small farming town"?) He is in a bluegrass band called “The Conway Traditions” in which he plays the mandolin and the violin. He is also part of our church choir. Needless to say, there is always music being played throughout my home and I am always being woken up by him hootin’ and hollerin’ from our living room.

On the second Sunday in July of every year, the Carbone family (my father’s side) meets in Boothbay Harbor, Maine for a family reunion. We meet here because when my great grandfather Nuno came from Italy, he moved to Boothbay Harbor and established a fruit store appropriately named “Carbone’s”. Although the store is not there anymore, the building remains.

At the reunion there are around 100-150 Italians, (more on family, food) so as you can imagine, there is always good food. We have lobster races, horse shoe games, good conversation and a traditional program and family picture. During the program we celebrate the history of our family, and someone is picked each year to give a tradition message. We also have a segment where each family tells everyone the accomplishments of their kids in the past year. As a kid, I worked hard throughout the year in order to have impressive things said about me during this segment of the program. Lastly, if you were wearing green, Aunt Nini would give you five dollars. I always took advantage of this.

Behind our house in Deerfield there is a very large field owned by the Melnick family. This family owns the majority of the fields around Deerfield, which means he must be a very wealthy man. When I first moved to South Deerfield from Greenfield, MA, I was told a story about Mr. Melnick that scared me for quite a few years. I was told that a young boy was playing in his field one day while the corn was almost ready to be cut, so the stalks were high. Mr. Melnick mistook the rustling in the stalks to be a coyote, and shot at it, killing this young child. After this story I was petrified of the man and the field, but I was soon told by my parents that this was very much not true. This field soon became a playground in the spring and summer, a skating rink in the winter, and a secret path to my first boyfriend’s house all seasons of the year.

My first boyfriend’s name was Keith Bell. We dated from the end of fourth grade all the way until seventh grade. We held hands, bought each other gifts for all the important holidays and even kissed multiple times on the lips (most of these times were in games of truth or dare). I could have sworn I was in love. There wasn’t much to complain about besides the fact that he was a good foot shorter than me, which made things pretty awkward at school dances. Also, I was not allowed to date until I was sixteen. I was only about ten at the time so I was not allowed to go ANYWHERE with an even number of boys and girls without parental supervision.

In sixth grade, my parents forced me to apply to a private school a half an hour away from home called the Williston Northampton School. My sister Elizabeth was going into her sophomore year of high school and was applying anyways. My parents thought it would be convenient if we both went to the same school, and they also did not want me attending the middle school in Deerfield, because my sister had hated it. I was pissed. I was not about to leave all of my friends to attend a school I had no intention on going to. I also had no intention on leaving Keith. Out of respect for my parents, I filled out the application anyways and prayed I would not get in. I even planned on purposely doing poorly on my interview, but we started talking about Harry Potter and I could not follow through.

I remember the day our letters came. We knew they were coming so my sister and I walked out to the purple flowered mailbox together, anxious and giddy. We took our pieces of mail, went sprinting back into the house, and opened them almost instantly. We both got in. It’s weird remembering the emotions I felt as I was staring at the very formal letter in front of me. At first I was very excited. I got in! My sister was dancing around the kitchen and my mom and dad were congratulating us. I really felt as though I accomplished something. Then it dawned on me. I got in. I had to leave my friends, my town, everything I’ve known in order to attend this new stupid place against my will. It was then, about five minutes after I opened my letter, when I began to cry. (this seems like a big moment, a transition in your identity or sense-of-self?)

I even cried on my way to my first day of school. My hair was perfectly blow-dried, my nails were painted and I even had a brand new outfit on that I had order from dELiA’s, my favorite clothing store. Regardless, I was still absolutely miserable.

Before I knew it, I loved school. I made the closest friends I ever could have imagined. Keith had broken my heart in the beginning of seventh grade because he wanted to “date around” now that we were in middle school. It was for the best. By ninth grade I felt as though I ran the school. I was a member of the Varsity Swimming and Diving team, and was the youngest swimmer to swim at Nationals my eighth grade year at Nationals. I also played Varsity Water polo and put on recitals for the piano regularly. With slicked back hair, big buns, thin eyebrows and way too much eyeliner, my three best friends, Emma, Della, Vanessa and I were on top of the world. We did everything together, including reading “The Perks of Being a Wallflower” by Stephen Chbosky, which soon became all of our bibles.

During the spring, when it was a nice outside, the four of us would sneak out of Vanessa’s house late at night and climb up to the top of Mount Polix. With candles, a blanket, books, poems, and wine, we would laugh, talk and analyze readings for hours until the sun would rise and we would slowly make our way back down the hill into the comfort of Vanessa’s leopard skin bed. Many hours later we would rise to the sounds of the birds outside her window and make our way to Atkins farm for cider donuts and coffee.

Before my sophomore year of high school I was torn from Williston due to financial complications. I was devastated as I had to return to my public school in Deerfield to finish up my high school education. It was the hardest adjustment I made because I had to leave a place I had made a true home at. The people I met at Williston were and still are my best friends in the entire world.

Back at Frontier (my public high school) I was placed into the junior and senior anatomy class because I had already fulfilled the sophomore science requirement at Williston. On my first day, I was wearing white pants and a hot pink shirt and I was extremely nervous. I walked into anatomy and sat down at the most convenient seat I could find. I ended up sitting next to a boy named Nick. I was the new girl so I didn’t talk much, but I was instantly charmed with his amazing sense of humor and intellect. It just so happened that we were always paired up in class assignments and we became increasingly friendly as the days went on.

I was sixteen so I was finally able to go on a real date. We saw a movie and went to Friendlys dated ever since then until I was 18. This time I swear I was in love. We watched fall sunsets on a rock near my house, watched sopranos, and even waltzed under the Eiffel tower together in France.

MarieKate 15:02, 10 October 2006 (EDT)