Age One: I spend my days with my mom and hanging out at my grandparents' house, since we live just next-door. I am basically bald. Mom pierces my ears in the hopes that someone will know that I am a girl. Dad is mad that his first born has gone through the pain of pierced ears.
Age Two: A clumsy child, I fall down a lot and have many bruises to show for it. My aunts babysit me, I fall down and get a black eye. The aunts hide from my dad, sure that he will kill them since his first born has gone through the pain of a black eye.
Age Three: I give myself another black eye while visiting our new house's construction site. Nobody knows how I got it. My best friend is our collie puppy, Lucky, The Best Dog Who Ever Lived, and whose name, when mentioned, still causes my mom to tear up.
Age Four: I go to my preschool interview. To judge my mechanical skills, the teacher asks me to color a black and white outline in the shape of a heart. I sit quietly staring at my paper. The teacher asks me why I haven't started coloring, and I tell her I didn't know which of the crayons I was supposed to use.
Age Five: My favorite coat is long and purple with thick buttons and matching mittens on a string. While playing on the slide, I overhear a classmate say that mittens are for babies and decide that next year, I'm moving on to gloves and never looking back.
Age Six: A first-grader at Creekview Elementary, I tell my parents about my teacher and how her boyfriend stops by occasionally to meet her in our coat closet. The next year I start private school.
Age Seven: I love wearing a uniform to school every day and my new friend, Rachele Sacco, pulls me aside to teach me how to get away with wearing gray cordouroy pants instead of the mandatory jumper: Just tell the nuns you spilled ice cream on your skirt.
Age Eight: My first year of using hard-cover text books. I feel very grown up and make a big deal of proclaiming, as often as possible, that "I have social studies homework." For some reason I liked the sound of that.
Age Nine: We start our first year of sex ed and my fear of childbirth is born.
Age Ten: My grandfather takes his airplane, that he built in his garage, for its first flight on my birthday. I feel very special and notice that the reporter from the Delta, Utah newspaper is there to cover the grand event. I am certain I'm just a bi-weekly newspaper away from being famous.
(This blog post topic is one recommended by Mighty Girl and featured in her popular book.)
3 comments:
This post is fabulous!
You've had a very exciting life. I can't remember that much.
I must agree with Natalie, this post is indeed fabulous!
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