In the summer before my first year of high school, I spent long, hot afternoons in my room, reading and re-reading all the books in my tiny collection. As I often did at the time, I even started reading the required novel for my Literature class. That year, it was "Catch a Falling Star."
The author dedicates the book to her daughters, saying, "[for those] who may want to know what it was like in an earlier time." She may as well have written that dedication to me. I can still remember the feeling of being so enthralled by the stories of this book, spending that entire summer imagining Patricia Payatot's life in the '50s, so different from my own as a teenage girl living through the early millennium.
I haven’t picked up that book in ten or fifteen years. When a typhoon flooded our basement last year, my copy of "Catch a Falling Star" didn’t make it—waterlogged, musty, and on the verge of molding, I had to let it go.
But I knew those stories by heart, and I wanted to dive in again, so I found a refurbished copy. Now, re-reading it, 22 years after I first cracked open the cover, I’m struck by how much Patricia’s life and mine overlap—experiencing all the highs and lows of growing up: friends, bullies, first love, heartbreak, and everything in between. These stories spark memories of my own childhood.
Five stars, even after all these years. In my mind, Patricia Payatot grew up to become exactly who she wanted to be—a nerdy writer, more secure in herself and the love of those around her, with an unquenchable curiosity for the world. I like to think she let go of the discomfort of those awkward years and eventually found her happily ever after.