Parents always boast about how gifted their children are. Either they are athletically blessed, or have advanced intellect; some are musical prodigies or may just have faultless charm. What was my gift? Well I was the obedient child, not just polite but obedient to the point of passiveness. I never disobeyed any requests my parents asked; “Alex, eat your peas.” I’d smile and gulp them down even though I despised them so and was actually dreaming of a contraband baked potato. My teachers loved it, almost to the point that they seemed to take advantage of me. “Alex deary, would you mind putting this box back in the closet, oh and this canister, oh and while your at, it take this to the fridge, and you might as well just grab the recycling too on your way out.” I would just nod, smile and obey. Don’t get me wrong; being passive did have its perks. I made many wonderful friends as a result of my submissiveness. The dearest one I remember to this day. “Alex, if you sit down on the ground and let my hit you with this cucumber from the toy kitchen, ill let you be my friend.” Kyle and I really bonded that day; it’s a friendship I cherish still.
After my first semester of preschool, my very first report card came. I was ecstatic, knowing that my sacrifices ultimately would yield a report second to none. As my parents shard my “report card” comments with me, all of them were incredibly positive, and my heart soared. But then, the crushing blow came. “Alex is a terrific kid but we are very worried about her inability to stand up for herself. Kyle repeatedly beats her with a cucumber and she just lets him.” Of all the nerve! That day, something inside me snapped, I didn’t want to be the perfect little girl that was continuously traumatized by a plastic cucumber. At that pivotal moment, I decided to take a stand. It happened that the next day, which so happened to be Christmas. I had been asking for a pair of Barbie slippers for at last 3 months, and I was dying to have them. After a book and some socks I finally got my slippers. I was so excited I wanted to parade them around the neighborhood to all my friends. Before my daydream of all my friends’ jealous faces was even complete my mom told me I couldn’t wear them outside because it would ruin the fluff. My four-year-old intellect didn’t process the potential impact of the Colorado elements on that quality Wal-Mart plastic and polyester. Fully infuriated by this, my newfound resolve fueled my insurgence as I grabbed the new slippers and threw on my coat. As I began my decent down the icy runway of my driveway, I heard jealous gasps and cheers from across the street, each girl practically drooling over my slippers. I accentuated each step and emphasized the flicking of my hair from shoulder to shoulder. Barbie herself could not help but be jealous of my beauty, highlighted by the fabulous slippers. In a fog of happiness, I finished my debut at the end of our neighborhood. It was then that my fantasy shattered. As it turns out, all the cheering and drooling were a mirage my slippers had produced. As I sat at the end of the sidewalk alone I started to feel a throbbing pain in my left foot. I looked down to see my first three left toes out of my slipper red with blood.
Not only were my slippers tattered and torn but they now had an unwelcome red stain that clashed terribly with the whites and light pink. I hurried home to get a band-aid and saw my parents still trying to assemble Jill’s new tricycle. As my great rebellion had only lasted four and a half minutes, they assumed I was in the bathroom. Particularly embarrassed by my failure, I slid into the seat between my sister and my mom and accepted my obedient ways. I never showed my mom the bloody Barbie slippers. Tucked into the bowels of my closet to this day, every now and then I glance at them-and mentally plan my next big rebellion.
04 December 2009
16 November 2009
The Things We Do for Love
In every movie there is the guy. You know -the guy who walks in slow motion, and when he enters a room sexy music spontaneously starts to play. Yeah, that guy. It just so happens that guy transferred to my preschool on a day that seems like yesterday. Connor Straight. The first time I saw him I knew we were meant to be, as fireworks went off in my head and butterflies took off in my stomach. I was head over heals and hadn’t even yet made eye contact, as I was convinced his beauty would blind me. Three months into the preschool year, I finally caught his eye. I was sitting by myself in the reading corner, fully immersed in The Giving Tree. As I looked up to check the clock, from across the room my eyes met Connor’s. I felt as thought the wind had been knocked out of me, which was definitely not a good thing considering my asthma. I ended up gasping for air while holding my neck, but my love-struck eyes never broke the stare. After my first impression with Connor had gone so terribly wrong, I had vowed that the next time I saw him, I would redeem myself at any cost. Two months later I finally got my chance. It was a dismal, rainy day and recess was canceled, so naptime was extended. Using my highly advanced, cunning four-year-old wits, I somehow managed to edge my nap mat next to Connor’s. About an hour and half had passed and we hadn’t said a word to each other, until the fateful moment the teacher left the room to make photo copies. Connor whispered something inaudible but it sounded so beautiful I joyfully responded yes. Turns out he had dared me to shove a rock he found on the floor up my nose. Charming. Seeing that I had already said yes, and unwilling to turn down those pleading green eyes, I instantaneously complied and shoved the rock as far up my nose as possible to illustrate my undying devotion. I didn’t even really comprehend what I had just done because I was mesmerized by his magical smile. Connor Straight was smiling at me. Unfortunately, about thirty seconds later, the infatuation wore off and the reality of the pain from my damaged nose began to set in. Unignorable, searing agony. I started to cry and no one could figure out what was wrong with me. As my nose began to gush blood, the teacher sprang into action, because as everyone knows, if a nose is bleeding you put pressure on it to stop the tide. Unfortunately, if you happen to have a sharp rock stuck in your nose, applying pressure does indeed make it worse. My teacher pressed and pressed tissue after tissue against my nose, and I, being the passive child that I am, never muttered a word. As my nose doubled in size, blood dripping down my chin, I sat in the nurse’s office and waited for my mom to pick me up. It was through the fog of my tears that I saw Connor through the window, daring Michelle to swallow a worm. It was then I decided to never love a man again. Even though you may have the guy from the movie, it doesn’t mean you get the fairytale ending.
03 November 2009
Thin Mint Reminiscence
Thin Mints, in my opinion, are the purest substance on earth. Not only do they represent the innocence and bliss of girl scouts, but they are also coated in chocolate. For most, Thin Mints take one back in time, to the simplicity and joy of childhood, but for me the sweet Thin Mint Reminiscence only reminds me of bitter judgment and low self esteem. It all goes back to June 14, 2001, the day the Thin Mint lost its innocence.
It was a normal day, just like any other beautiful June day in Colorado, but to me it was more than just June 14: it was my day. It was my day to finally be independent and do something on my own. In hindsight, I was a rather over zealous seven year old. That morning dragged on forever, the world couldn’t possibly be moving any slower. Finally 9:00 hit and we were out the door. Driving up that curvy, mountain road, I was filled with anticipation. I played scenes from the parent trap over and over in my head, picturing what my British twin would look like. Just before my anticipation was about to overflow, I saw a sign marked, “WELCOME GIRL SCOUTS OF 2001”. Girl Scout. That was who I was, finally some distinction from every other seven year old. Unable to control my eagerness, I was actually bouncing up and down in my seat. I made us park as close as possible so I could be the first Girl Scout into my cabin, and I was. I was the very first to arrive, the only other person in my cabin was my counselor. She told my parents they were free to go, so they said their goodbyes, and left before any of the other girls arrived. Two hours had passed when I had decided I hated Jamie. Jamie was my “Friendly Counselor”, as her nametag described. In the last two hours we had only spoken twice. Once about my buckteeth, she asked me if I was unaware that they were so bucked. The other was about how many freckles I had and that each freckle is a mini tumor waiting to happen. She then helped herself to the ‘counselor’s only’ fridge and left me by myself to twiddle my thumbs for another hour. Finally I hear the slam of a car door. A young blond girl walked in with all six of her bags, concentrating extremely hard on how not to fall over. I quickly took two of the bags, helping her regain some balance. Michelle and I were best friends at once. We had nothing in common, but that kept conversations interesting. We played cards until the remaining twelve girls arrived. Once our entire cabin was present we headed down to the dining hall. It was filled with hundreds of girls, screaming, and shouting even crying girls all so happy to be reunited again. Michelle and I sat together with the rest of our cabin through opening assembly, after we were all sent to a marshmallow roasting. Apparently Michelle knew Linda, a girl I had not had the privilege of meeting, and her band of loyal cohorts. As I watched them talk from across the fire my stomach turned, as they kept gesturing to me very blatantly and giving me harsh looks. Finally Michelle came over to where I was sitting and told me she wasn’t allowed to hang out with me anymore. Linda’s rules. Then without another word she turned and walked back to Linda. I was horrified and enormously embarrassed. I tried to hide my tears, but my lack of clear vision caused my marshmallow to fall into the fire, giving Linda’s gang one more reason to laugh in my face, which they did. The next day I tried to pretend I had broken both my legs and couldn’t walk, my counselor wasn’t as dumb as I concluded, so I found myself with all the other girls walking to breakfast, but I was alone. When we reached the dinning hall it was blueberry pancake day. All my excitement channeled forward as I raced to the line, subconsciously bumping into my new nemesis. She simply glared at me and muttered, “You’ll pay.” I was scared out of my mind, so scared when I reached the front of the line I got oatmeal instead of pancakes. Still trembling I walked back to our cabin’s assigned table, Linda nowhere in sight. Suddenly I stumbled over something and in the brief moment I had, looked down to see Linda’s dainty foot, I hit the ground hard, and my oatmeal flew up and somehow landed perfectly back onto my head. I squealed, capturing the attention of the entire cafeteria. This torment went on for days - locking me out of bathrooms, rocking my bunk while I was sleeping, stealing my chair from the dinning hall forcing me to stand, and the constant jabbing. Michelle was starting to become their leader, sharing the reigns with Linda in controlling their mindless cronies. I had to escape. I ran into the bathroom and hid for 4 hours straight, I told my counselor I had been vomiting all day. I did this for three days until she finally understood that I wanted to go home. When my parents arrived all my bags were already packed and I was at the door. We left immediately, warning them that I might throw up anytime. When we got in the car my mom felt my head and I wasn’t anywhere near a fever. When she asked me why I had been constantly throwing up, I panicked and told her that I had just eaten too many thin mints.
It was a normal day, just like any other beautiful June day in Colorado, but to me it was more than just June 14: it was my day. It was my day to finally be independent and do something on my own. In hindsight, I was a rather over zealous seven year old. That morning dragged on forever, the world couldn’t possibly be moving any slower. Finally 9:00 hit and we were out the door. Driving up that curvy, mountain road, I was filled with anticipation. I played scenes from the parent trap over and over in my head, picturing what my British twin would look like. Just before my anticipation was about to overflow, I saw a sign marked, “WELCOME GIRL SCOUTS OF 2001”. Girl Scout. That was who I was, finally some distinction from every other seven year old. Unable to control my eagerness, I was actually bouncing up and down in my seat. I made us park as close as possible so I could be the first Girl Scout into my cabin, and I was. I was the very first to arrive, the only other person in my cabin was my counselor. She told my parents they were free to go, so they said their goodbyes, and left before any of the other girls arrived. Two hours had passed when I had decided I hated Jamie. Jamie was my “Friendly Counselor”, as her nametag described. In the last two hours we had only spoken twice. Once about my buckteeth, she asked me if I was unaware that they were so bucked. The other was about how many freckles I had and that each freckle is a mini tumor waiting to happen. She then helped herself to the ‘counselor’s only’ fridge and left me by myself to twiddle my thumbs for another hour. Finally I hear the slam of a car door. A young blond girl walked in with all six of her bags, concentrating extremely hard on how not to fall over. I quickly took two of the bags, helping her regain some balance. Michelle and I were best friends at once. We had nothing in common, but that kept conversations interesting. We played cards until the remaining twelve girls arrived. Once our entire cabin was present we headed down to the dining hall. It was filled with hundreds of girls, screaming, and shouting even crying girls all so happy to be reunited again. Michelle and I sat together with the rest of our cabin through opening assembly, after we were all sent to a marshmallow roasting. Apparently Michelle knew Linda, a girl I had not had the privilege of meeting, and her band of loyal cohorts. As I watched them talk from across the fire my stomach turned, as they kept gesturing to me very blatantly and giving me harsh looks. Finally Michelle came over to where I was sitting and told me she wasn’t allowed to hang out with me anymore. Linda’s rules. Then without another word she turned and walked back to Linda. I was horrified and enormously embarrassed. I tried to hide my tears, but my lack of clear vision caused my marshmallow to fall into the fire, giving Linda’s gang one more reason to laugh in my face, which they did. The next day I tried to pretend I had broken both my legs and couldn’t walk, my counselor wasn’t as dumb as I concluded, so I found myself with all the other girls walking to breakfast, but I was alone. When we reached the dinning hall it was blueberry pancake day. All my excitement channeled forward as I raced to the line, subconsciously bumping into my new nemesis. She simply glared at me and muttered, “You’ll pay.” I was scared out of my mind, so scared when I reached the front of the line I got oatmeal instead of pancakes. Still trembling I walked back to our cabin’s assigned table, Linda nowhere in sight. Suddenly I stumbled over something and in the brief moment I had, looked down to see Linda’s dainty foot, I hit the ground hard, and my oatmeal flew up and somehow landed perfectly back onto my head. I squealed, capturing the attention of the entire cafeteria. This torment went on for days - locking me out of bathrooms, rocking my bunk while I was sleeping, stealing my chair from the dinning hall forcing me to stand, and the constant jabbing. Michelle was starting to become their leader, sharing the reigns with Linda in controlling their mindless cronies. I had to escape. I ran into the bathroom and hid for 4 hours straight, I told my counselor I had been vomiting all day. I did this for three days until she finally understood that I wanted to go home. When my parents arrived all my bags were already packed and I was at the door. We left immediately, warning them that I might throw up anytime. When we got in the car my mom felt my head and I wasn’t anywhere near a fever. When she asked me why I had been constantly throwing up, I panicked and told her that I had just eaten too many thin mints.
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