Hollyer-Starr-Smith-Glimour
by Amelia Starr
Once upon a time, there were 2 people who worked at PG&E. Their names were Lynne Hollyer and Gerry Starr. Lynne was from a huge family of short people in Michigan who talked fast. At 5’3” and 100 wpm (words per minute), Lynne made her family proud. Gerry was from a family of approximately six people in New Jersey who were not known for their rationality. Somehow, Lynne and Gerry fell in love and got married. 9 years and 2 children later, they came to their senses and got divorced. This is where it gets interesting. Gerry married Kim Smith who had 2 kids with Melvin Gilmour who was married to Jennifer who had a daughter, Jessica, from a previous relationship with a rock star. Between Gerry and Kim there were 4 kids: Amelia (that’s me), Susannah, Stephen and Brian. But then Mel and Jennifer had Michael so there were 6 of us, technically not all related, but stuck together.
Susannah is my only biological sibling; although I am growing increasingly suspicious that she is adopted. While cleaning her room a few weeks ago, she stumbled upon a box containing a Barbie who had undergone a beauty treatment at “Susannah’s House of Style”, a Hilary Duff Christmas CD, and her diary from 7th grade. In it, she made a list of things she liked about herself.
Things I Like About Myself:
Luckily she has out grown Hillary Duff and strange diaries, “Susannah’s House of Style” however is here to stay. While we were both in the bathroom getting ready for school she turned to me and said, “You know, wearing your hair like that makes you look matronly and broad shouldered.”
Jessica
Jessica is my stepbrother’s stepsister. We think of ourselves as honorary half stepsisters. One summer we decided that since we could think of absolutely nothing else to do, we would go trick or treating. I was a witch, Jessica was a cowgirl and Susannah wrapped herself in a pink sheet. We set off down the streets with high hopes, figuring that since it was July, no one else would be trick or treating and there would be more candy for us. After getting a chocolate Santa and a package of almonds from Jack in the Box, we were ready to give up and head home. We decided to stop at one more house. Jessica rang the doorbell and immediately we heard dogs barking. Big dogs. We were about to run away when the door opened a crack.
“What do you want?” a gruff voice called from within the dark house.
“TRICK OR TREAT!” we yelled.
“It’s July!” the man responded angrily. “Halloween isn’t for months”
“Seriously?” I asked. “Are you sure?”
“Do I look unsure?” the man asked opening the door wider to reveal two huge ferocious looking dogs and his own furious face.
“HAPPY HALLOWEEN!” Jessica shouted as we ran for our lives.
Sofia
Sofia is my cousin’s four-year-old daughter. Once, I was babysitting her and doing my economics homework at the same time. She was drawing and I was taking notes on the fascinating intricacies of the law of demand when she asked me what I was reading.
“It’s called economics, it’s about money.”
“Read me some.”
“Market demand is the sum of all the quantities of a good or service demanded per period by all the households buying in that market for that good or service.”
“Well, that’s good news.”
My dad, Gerald, thinks he is funny. His favorite joke to tell is “What do you call an elephant that was run over by a fertilizer truck? Grow-tusk!” One year for Christmas, having decided that he needed professional help, my siblings and I bought him a joke book entitled, “Jokes Your Kids Will Laugh At.” The book was wrong.
His biggest pet peeve is talking back. He sees it as the ultimate sign of disrespect. My dad’s definition of talking back includes but is not limited to disagreeing with him, pointing out a flaw in his logic, and correcting him. When I tried to explain that disagreeing with him is not disrespect, he got mad at me for talking back and shouted, “You’re not allowed to answer me!”
Brian
Brian is my younger stepbrother. His passions include football, whistling, and disagreeing. He knew he wanted children from an early age, in fact at the tender age of 7, he had already chosen his future children’s names.
“If I have a son, I’m going to name him Alan after Alan Iverson or maybe Harlan because that’s my best friend’s name,” “What if you have a daughter?” I asked.
“I won’t,” he replied confidently.
“You can’t know that,” I pointed out with all the wisdom of a 12-year-old.
“Well,” he conceded, “I guess I’d name her Barf-all-over-you.”
Mom
One of my mom’s goals in life is to not be one of those “Berkeley women.” consequently, she only owns two pairs of clogs and one pair of cropped cargo pants, and she is still fighting the battle against the dreaded frizzy, grey disaster commonly known as “Berkeley mom hair.” I have always gotten along better with her than with my dad, so I assumed (forgetting the crucial lesson “when you assume, you make an ass out of u and me”) that she would be a better driving instructor than my dad. We set off around the block in our 1987 Volkswagen Jetta with her behind the wheel to demonstrate how to drive a stick shift.
“See, I’m pushing down the clutch, and when I want to accelerate I will slowly release the clutch while pushing on the gas at EXACTLY THE SAME TIME.” We did a few laps, and then it was my turn. I stalled out the first 7,000 or so times I tried to get going, but I guess 7001 times is the charm because I finally got the car to move. Then I stalled out again. “GAS, Amelia, you have to give it more GAS!” my mom shouted as we shuddered to a halt yet again. Several millennia later, I had managed to start the car and drive approximately the length of the parking lot several times without a stall, so my mom decided that we were ready to take it to the streets. My biggest problem was stop signs; I would see one, get nervous about stopping without stalling out, and by the time I actually got to the stop sign I was so scared of stalling out that I immediately did. An afternoon of driving wouldn’t be complete, however, without a little embarrassment added to the fun of learning to drive a stick. Luckily, the men’s crew team golden boy and Ashton Kutcher look alike was there to oblige. I pulled up to a four-way stop, and there he was in a pickup truck with a few of his friends. He looked up at me and smiled. I stalled out.
Now, almost two years later, she still gets nervous when I’m driving. “Amelia, do you see that pedestrian FOUR BLOCKS AWAY!?! Why aren’t you SLOWING DOWN!?!”
Car Accident
On a lovely grey day in November, it started raining as I was driving up Ashby on my way to Moraga. I was next to Alta Bates Hospital when the Rav 4 in front of me stopped suddenly. I stopped suddenly too, hitting the back of the Rav 4. My car was hissing and there was bright green liquid pouring out from under the car. Surprisingly, the car still worked, so I pulled over to the side of the road. The man whose car I hit was still in the middle of the street. He got out of the car and started speaking in rapid Chinese. He came up to me and said, “No English! No English!” grabbed my driver’s license out of my hand and got back into his car. Luckily, I am a talented charades player, so I was able to mime driving over to the side of the road enough times for the man to understand me and pull over. He decided, however, not to go to the side of the road, but into the fire lane outside Alta Bates and insisted that I pull up right behind him.
The man called his daughter who spoke English and she came with her husband to help sort things out. Meanwhile, I had called the police and both of my parents, and then I called a tow truck. The police told me they would send a squad car over as soon as possible. The man’s daughter came and told me that she was going to take her father home because he had to meet his wife and that her husband would stay with his car until the police came. She also told me that the car had been bought the day before. As we waited, the man’s daughter’s husband began talking to me, he told me that his father in law’s name was Yage (which is Chinese for Jacob), the story of how he met his wife on a cruise to Hawaii (they both got seasick), he was just asking me where I was planning on applying to college when an enormous fire truck pulled into the lane behind me. Thinking that they were probably dropping off someone at the hospital and that I could potentially be the cause of said person’s death because I was in the way of the fire truck, I drove my car around the corner onto a very narrow one-way street. I was shocked and horrified to see the fire truck follow me. As I was pulling into a parking space, my car died completely. The fire truck stopped behind me, and a fireman came over to the car to make sure my sister and I were not hurt. We assured them that we were and they attempted to leave. Unfortunately, this was as narrow as George W. Bush’s mind, so the fire truck had some trouble getting out.
After the fire truck left, I started to worry about the tow truck. The man on the phone said it would be 20 minutes and it was now well past 40. I called again and was informed that a tow truck had come, but due to my panic at the arrival of the fire truck and subsequent departure, the tow truck man had not been able to find my car so he left.
Finally, my parents showed up, the tow truck came back and after an hour of standing in the rain we were able to leave. This brings us to the oldest and most unique member of my family: my grandma.
Grandma
My dad’s mother is my only remaining grandparent. At 87, she has shown no signs of slowing down and I am sure that she will outlive the rest of the family (knock on wood).
A few days my car accident, my grandma sent me this email:
Hi De Ho!
Hope you put that traffic accident behind you and say NEV ER AGAIN!!!
Always such a pain with insurance, police, papers to fill out, ug! But
hurrah you and Susannah are okay. That's the main thing!
This is Monday. Julie will be getting in today in all this rain. Another
ug! Love to you both and take care, have fun but study too. Love, Grandma