Secondhand

Clothes and toys, recipes and jokes, advice and prejudice: we all have to handle all sorts of hand-me-downs every day. Tell us about some of the meaningful hand-me-downs in your life.


As the youngest child I spent a lot of my time dealing with hand-me-downs. Toys, books, clothes, and even sports seemed to belong to someone else before it came to me. At the time it really annoyed me. I was the only girl amongst my parents children, it didn’t make sense to me how my mother kept happening across used clothing for girls that were conveniently in my size. Of course, I had plenty of older cousins that helped out with her endeavor to keep me clothed in articles that were well past the point of worn.

Being as young as I was I just didn’t understand. Why did my brothers receive new things when I never did? Was it because my parents loved them more than me? Questions filled my brain and stuck in my mind, making me more confused than I had any right to be. Then one day all of that washed away. All pieces of hand-me-downs that were given to me were not merely objects that had previous owners, they had been cared for and loved in such a way that shouldn’t be looked down upon. The objects had lived, had stories of their own. That was beautiful, that was new, and the fact that I could create my own stories to go right along with the previous ones was an incredible feeling.

Once I had realized that, I ended up being happy with the things that I had. I was able to appreciate the value of them, and even to this day I still admire the quality of life found in hand-me-downs. That’s part of the reason I donate the stuff that I have outgrown, because maybe, just maybe, someone will have a place for that material in their own life.

 

~J. Spade

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Title: A World Without

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That Fateful Day

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Prompt: Take the first sentence out of a random page in a novel and use it to create a story.

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Story Excerpts

This is something I wrote a few years ago. It was a short paragraph meant to lead into a story and make the reader feel something. I still somewhat like it, and I’m working on getting out of my writer’s block so this might help


The wood felt cool beneath his fingers, and he shuffled his feet in the dirt beneath him. His heart pounded in his throat forcing him to swallow the lump of nerves that came along with it. This was it; this was the big moment that he had been waiting for. He couldn’t blow it, because he knew that there was really no other option left for him. His shoulders shifted as he stretched out his arms in anticipation. The chalked outline helped him to line up his feet as he faced down the demons that stood in the form of a 6’3” pitcher donned in a green jersey. He shucked a breath in through his teeth, his body hunching down into a squat. He was ready. The ball was launched from out of the opposing team’s fingers. He cocked his arms back and swung.