Time Capsule: 2003

A manila envelope of trash and treasures from my 11-year-old self.

On New Year’s Eve 2003, I went with my parents to a family friend’s house. I wore my un-coolest outfit: purple corduroy overalls, a hand-me-down from my sister. In the years between her wearing them and my wearing them, they’d gone out of style. Thinking about what was “in” and how short my socks were (or weren’t) was shallow and habitual, so that night I dressed in defiance or maybe penance. I didn’t dress to impress the family friend’s cool 13-year-old daughter or her also-cool friend. Although of course I would have loved to impress them without trying.

After dinner, where we either ate pierogis or just talked about them, I went upstairs with the eighth-graders. They talked about makeup, which I wasn’t allowed to wear. They sang along to No Doubt, a band I’d never heard of. It wasn’t love at first listen. In honor of the holiday, we shared our resolutions for 2004. I was determined to be a nicer person. The girls said I seemed nice enough already, but I knew I hadn’t reached my upper limit of niceness yet. I still haven’t.

My other resolution for the new year was not to beg my parents to see movies too often, if I could help it. PG-13 films beckoned me, but I was permitted to watch only on a case by case basis. These girls were 13 already. They’d already forgotten the struggle.

Earlier that week, I’d bid 2003 adieu in a private ritual. I’d labeled a manila envelope: “Time Capsule - 2003,” and filled it with evidence of another year lived, the year I turned 11.

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The capsule.

“Time Capsule - 2003!” - Annotated 20 years later

A handy Table of Contents written on Tinkerbell notepaper lists the following memorabilia from 2003. In their original order…

Family Pic

A photo of my family at the first wedding I ever went to, a second cousin’s, in Vermont. I am looking at the camera, but my parents and sister are looking off to their left, smiling at a rival camera.

Isabel + My Pact on Swear Words

My mom took my friend Isabel and me to see the author Karen Cushman speak in Sacramento. Before the talk started, Isabel and I wrote on the back of a piece of scratch paper (on the other side my mom had drawn a map to a plant nursery and written out two phone numbers of unknown origin). We made a list of the swear words specific to each of Cushman’s books — “Corpus Bones!” in Catherine Called Birdy. The others: Dung Beetles! Dag Diggity! Spit and Slime! Radishes! After this textual evidence, we wrote a vow — Isabel penned this part — “We shall evermore spew these swear words to those in need of them. We shall also use only our intellectual ones and not the contemporary words which are stupid and rude.”  

Although some of this vow is in my handwriting, I give Isabel most of the credit here. Her intellectual influence on my young mind cannot be overstated. When we reached the front of the autograph line, we showed Cushman our vow. She was delighted, of course. I’ve since miserably failed this pact and often use the contemporary swear words, however stupid and rude they may be.

The contents.

5th Grade Autograph Book

My class made these little notebooks at the end of the year; our school didn’t have yearbooks. Many classmates just signed their names. Some wished me a great summer. A few wrote “See you later,” a bit coldly. One boy wrote, “Elephants rule,” which was true to his brand. My teacher claimed I was a beautiful artist and she couldn’t wait to see me the next year. This is perplexing: What art? She liked me? My kindergarten buddy, bless him, wrote, “I love you” and drew a heart around it.

The only note with substance was from Isabel. “I have a feeling that when we grow up, I’ll walk into Borders and see…” She drew a little book with “BY S. KOPP” on the cover. Unfortunately, Borders no longer exists, but I appreciate her vision-holding for my future as a writer. From your lips, Isabel!

Loretto Chapel Sheet Thing

I’d read a historical novel by Ann Rinaldi called The Staircase, about the exact staircase I visited in New Mexico that summer. Legend has it a carpenter built this complex spiral staircase with just three tools, then disappeared before the nuns could pay him. Nuns love mysterious carpenters; I’m not telling you anything you don’t know.

Letters I Got @ Camp

I accidentally went to an evangelical Christian summer camp for five nights. My family’s liberal church did not prepare me for the reaction I’d get when I wore a Gryffindor¹ t-shirt. The other girls in my cabin were astonished. Their parents said witchcraft was bad, and books about it were, too.

When pressed, our college-aged counselor told us about a guy she really liked. She wasn’t sure if it would work out. One of the other girls said, “Is he Christian?” What a bizarre question to ask, I thought. But the counselor sighed, “No, that’s why it might not work out.”

In Bible study, we talked about Jesus, and how he was our express ticket to heaven. I said people from other religions could obviously go to heaven, too. It’s not like God would exclude nice people with different beliefs. All religions are kind of the same, aren’t they? Everyone stared at me.

By the end of the week, I had told my counselor I was saved, etc. She was so pleased. I packed my witchy t-shirt into my duffel, and my parents arrived to spring me out, never to return. 

The letters in the time capsule are from my parents, my sister, and my aunt. I have more evidence of what my family did that week than what I did at camp. My parents saw a movie from New Zealand, ate at Asian restaurants two nights in a row, and went to a birthday party. My sister was reading the newest Harry Potter book without an ounce of shame. They missed me.

Two Birthday Cards from Clair + Allison

My sister Allison made a card with an actual bow glued onto it. My friend Clair’s card was addressed to “The Bed in the 2nd Bedroom” of my grandmother’s house in East Chelmsford, Massachusetts. Clair had typed, with the utmost textual accuracy, my acceptance letter and packing list from Hogwarts. I’d turned 11, after all!

American Girl Magazine

This issue suggested making a time capsule for 2003. I said, “Okay, fine, now it’s tradition.”

Letter to Me

This fill-in-the-blank letter to my future self was also from AG Magazine. I wasn’t supposed to look at it again until December 29, 2013. Highlights include:

• “My friends and I love doing all sorts of things, such as yakking, reading and joking and laughing.” Still love to yak!

• “What I’ll remember most about 2003 is throwing up on a whale-watch on my bday.” 

• “My biggest accomplishment of the year was going to camp for five nights without anyone I knew.” And resisting a cult, I’d add.

• Manifestations that have since come true: I hoped to become “a writer/language teacher/movie industry person.” I hoped by 2013, I’d “get into a good college and learn another language.” I also hoped by then someone would have invented “super-fast-glitch-free computer (possible).” 

• What I loved most about being 11 was “you can goof off, but adults listen to you.” This was huge; I so badly wanted adults to listen to me.

• “P.S. Good luck! Improve your handwriting!” Thank you, little self, and sorry, I didn’t. 

Chinese School Newsletter

I went to Chinese School on Friday nights for two years. Unfortunately, all I remember are the words for hamburger, little sister, big sister, hello, and thank you. A boy in my class really wanted to learn the word for “geezer,” and he repeated it on a loop.

“My Buddy” book made by UJ

Again, this little kindergarten sweetie wrote that he loved me. No “see you later” here!

Page of Comics

When I’d come back from being out of town—like those five nights at camp I was so proud of—my mom would have saved each day’s comics page and film reviews from the two newspapers we subscribed to and put them in my room. I’d sit down with my stack and catch up on Zits.

Mona Lisa Smile Ad ~ saw w/ Isabel, her mom, Momo, + Allison

I’m sure I begged to see this PG-13 movie, hence the New Year’s resolution. The trailer was better than the movie. I was experimenting with calling my mom “Momo” in 2003. It didn’t stick. 

Rubber Band Bracelet that Won’t Get into the Right Shape

The rubber band bracelet that wouldn’t get into the right shape is missing, lost to time and memory. What color was it? Who stretched it? Why did I save it? Where did it go?! We’ll never know.

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My 11-year-old self so desperately wanted to be nicer, less annoying, more stylish but not shallow, more mature but still a kid. In this manila envelope, she dreamed of a future with faster computers (possible) and improved handwriting. She saved this trash and treasure for her/me to open in a year that didn’t sound real, like 2023, or 2024.

2024 is yet another in a sequence of years that sound made up to me, still. I imagine people felt this way 40 years ago, ringing in 1984. Orwell warned us about that year, but it wasn’t suppose to happen so soon. 

In high school, we read 1984 and watched the film. I saw so many films on the public school clock, and many were not as relevant to the syllabus as this.² The film has a terrifying scene that, if you have a severe phobia of rats—which I do—you simply cannot watch. I knew it was coming because I’d read the book. In any case, torture is easier read than watched. Before class started, I asked my teacher how bad the rat scene was and if he’d mind letting me leave when it happened. He looked at me like I was trying to get away with something. No, I could not leave class. Everyone had to watch. 

He rolled the cart holding the TV to the front of the room and turned out the lights. When the scene began, I shut off all relevant senses, covering my eyes and ears with my hands. My teacher crossed over to my desk and mercifully told me he’d changed his mind. I waited in the school hallway, hands still glued to my ears to block out the squeaks and screams of Winston Smith living out one of my actual nightmares. Then the coast was clear, the scene over, the animals caged.

1. For the record, I’m obviously a Ravenclaw. I just had the shirt.

2. For example: The Sandlot in Algebra.