boston {h.s.}

un.

HERE ARE THE things that a Google search of my name could provide:

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English teacher at John and Abigail Adams Secondary Charter School. From here, you'll be directed to my page on the school website which has my email address from the teacher's directory as well as other ways to contact me at the school, and some other details about the things that I do for the school. For example: though I am an English teacher, I do work with the French language club and I am the teacher chaperone for the poetry club in the school.

Though, for that, I do little else other than show up and let the select few students share their poetry. Chaperones were only essential in order for them to utilize school spaces and resources.

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Sister of Jacques Beauchamp. To me, Jacques is just Jack and he's a damn good hockey player. To the rest of the world—in particular, the city of Boston who embraces him readily with arms wide open—he is one of the most talented and promising centers that the Bruins have seen in years. Before that, he was one of the most gifted and accomplished players on Boston College's hockey team. Enough so that he was able to score not only a full ride, but a stipend for playing that was enough to help pay for my education there. His mastery is first-class and has been since the moment our father first shoved him in a pair of skates and sent him off.

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Francis Gardner Obituary. My father; the more recent death of our parents. A brief skim of the article will relay that he died of natural causes just prior to our starting of college. When we were young, he was not. Twenty-one years separated him and our mother—a fact that I fortunately don't frequently have to think about due to never seeing them alive together—and created an entirely different atmosphere for growing up with a single father. At the time of our birth he was already in his forties. Gone were the days of piggyback rides and fun races, and instead were replaced with weak, wobbly knees that cracked every time he moved.

Neither one of us missed out on this aspect of our childhood. Instead there we found private skating lessons for Jack and all of the books that I could ever dream of reading for me. We were spoiled by a man who was apologetic for the lack of affection and communication—the nonexistence of a nurturing mother. Clarification and honesty have a way of always rounding out. Death brought along the truth that life had allowed him to hide. Primarily amongst them, a stack of red overdue credit card bills he was unable to pay.

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Camille Beauchamp Obituary. Our mother; a beautiful woman who died in childbirth. She lived long enough to name the two of us, hold us once, and shortly after, she was gone. My father never talked about her, he just handed us the diaries that she had kept throughout her youth. He wasn't an expressive man, but it was obvious that he loved her. He loved her enough to ensure that we kept her surname as a way of keeping her alive.

In this sense, I suppose I could say that I know my mother more intimately than I know anyone in the world—save from Jack. In her native, French-tongue I read all about her childhood, her bullies. I learned about her artistic tendencies and her love for the classics. I read about the first cigarette that she smoked and how she hated it but she continued because she looked cool. I read about the first time that she wore red lipstick and how she overlined her lips accidentally, but she learned to prefer it that way. I read about the horrors of her first period and I learned about the first man that she ever loved. I read about her move to America—a search for meaning. Landing in Boston within ten days she met my father and within ten weeks they were married. Ten months after that, she was already dead.

n. figured why not do a double update to get us started. i have up to chapter 3 written, so, take that with a grain of salt. i'll not be pre-writing in the same way with medicine... just writing when i feel like it so updates will come when they come. which is fortunate for you because i will be taking suggestions for plots/chapters/etc. love you, mean it.