A Real Passport


      I was sitting in Calculus class, my mind was wandering. As I reclined in my felt, blue office chair with my multi-colored, mis-matched stocks resting on my desk, my teacher’s voice transmitted clumps of numbers and signs through my ear buds. Then my phone rang.
     Rarely does anyone call me, unless it’s a wrong number or it’s my dad. But today, it was Grandma. She was phoning me to say she was paying for me to go to Greece and Rome. That was it. I was hopelessly lost between math functions and prospects of seeing the Parthenon. I threw out my dream of being able to afford a plain ticket to Europe along with my dream of going to Hogwarts many ages ago. Yet, here I was in the middle of Math class, being told that I would be visiting Pompeii over Easter week. My life was radically changed.
     Originally, it was just my parents going, since they were asked to chaperon a trip that my school was putting together for some students. But my dear Grandmother got wind of it and wanted to send me too. I don’t think I’ll ever recover from her generosity.
     Now, one of the benefits of traveling overseas is the necessity of a passport. I cannot tell you how excited I was for this. From a young age I have dreamed of getting one. I created passports for my dolls and one for me out of navy construction paper and a stick-figure self-portrait. So, when I received the little blue book in the mail this past week, I was elated. There is truly nothing like this.

P.S. Lots of pictures will be shared here when I return after Easter.

Veronica A.

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