Thursday, September 06, 2007

The First Ten Years

Age one – Already walking, but so tall I was often mistaken for an older child. People likely thought I was retarded when all I could manage to say back to them when they tried to talk to me was “Hi!” over and over again.

Age two – Wet my pants at my birthday party (cousins Layne and Carrie in attendance). Cried a lot about the that, but was very excited about my new wagon.

Age three – Sister Jenny born. Very, very unhappy with the parents. This was MY SHOW, after all. Don’t worry yourselves; I love my little sis’ to pieces nowadays.

Age four – There is a picture of me standing in front of the television in an old black hat, my dad's combat boots, and a white t-shirt. That's pants. My mom reminded me that I used to wear the hat constantly and would line up all of my little chairs and pretend I was riding on a train.

Age five – I don't know if I suffered some sort of trauma that year or what (Kindergarten?), but I have absolutely no significant memories to share.

Age six – We had a Halloween Parade at school. Mom dressed me as an Indian Squaw, replete with the papoose (containing my favorite Madame Alexander doll, Pussycat), braided hair, and feathered headdress.

Age seven – Grandma? Why did you give me this hideous permanent? No lasting damage to the hair follicles, but my mental state has never been the same.

Age eight – Played kissing tag in the schoolyard with a cute boy named Grady Green. A year or two later, his mother married my uncle! Keep it in the family, indeed.

Age nine – At recess one day, best friend Marlo said to Brian, the boy I had a huge crush on at the time, “Don’t you think Mae needs a bra?” I even remember the shirt I was wearing. It had a koala bear iron-on that said ‘I need wuvvin’, too!’ My dear Dad took me to the mall that evening to buy my first mammary support system. Gawd.

Age ten – My friend Cheryl punched one of the schoolteachers, Mrs. Phipps, in the nose. Mrs. Phipps was a nasty old bitch and totally had it coming. Cheryl was one badass mofo.

This idea was taken from prompt #47 in Maggie Mason's new book "No One Cares What You Had for Lunch: 100 Ideas for Your Blog".

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