Sixth Grade

     My sixth grade teacher once told me that I was poor, and I'd never have anything. To be fair, we were poor. Dirt poor. A few of us students were. But, our families managed. And, no one ever talked about it--at least not in such a harsh way.

     Nonetheless, she was so irate because I refused to accept old clothing from her--clothing she thought was far better than my own. 

     Either way, she said it in front of the entire 6th grade class. I recall hushed giggles and faint gasps... That day, I decided to stay in class rather than go to lunch. I used that time to cry. 

     I recently told my mother of this. She was outraged--because days later, as it turns out, that same teacher bypassed me and politely gave the clothing to my mother.

     "I wish I had known that at the time--" my mother said in a huff. "And to think, I accepted them hoping to spare her the embarrassment of rejection--!"

-Jen

The Slumber Party

     I was invited to a slumber party. Once. I had never been to one before, and I wanted so badly to go. 
     Even though my mom said I could, I tip-toed around it all day. About an hour before the sleepover was to begin, I told my mother I didn't want to go. And, I went to bed.
     No one ever knew why I decided not to go. Truth is, I was mortified. I thought that if I went, I'd wet the bed.
     Consequently, there were many other slumber parties to follow. Seeing as how I missed the first, I wasn't invited to any of the others, of course. 
     As a result, those same girls who invited me to the initial sleepover bullied me throughout elementary school.

Left or Right?

     When  I was a kid, my Mom wrote L and R under each one of my shoes so I'd know which foot to put them on. I couldn't do it based on the lettering, however.
     My problem wasn't the shoes. I just could never seem to figure which way was left and which was right.

The Truth about Me...

     As a young girl, I had the privilege of growing up on a farm. My childhood home wasn't the typical farm you'd see on movies where the children run eagerly to the scarlet-coloured barn to fetch pails of milk from the eager father in overalls, a red shirt, big black boots, and a straw hat. No. But, we did have cows. And, we also had pigs. We had acres and acres of rolling farmland--wide, green pastures bordered by a thin stretch of towering pines and gum trees, ancient white oaks... and a dense grove of emerald kudzu and sage ivy.
     Sure, we had a barn. It was decrepit but sturdy. It's antiquated walls, forever copper-coloured, were never painted. And, I seriously doubt that anyone had ever attempted to do so.
     The barn was filled with bales of hay. I mean, there were stacks upon stacks of the stuff--thousands of stray, pallid-gold blades littered the floor. And, the smell... The smell may be the reason why I utterly adore Home Depot to this day. The air was sickeningly sweet, stagnant, and it smelled of sweet oats and warm mist... barley, fresh wood chips and sawdust.
    Some days, I would go out to the barn and just sit on the lower deck inside. I'd just sit and stare across at faint streams of gold and illumined green seeping through the numerous cracks and chasms in the wooden walls and door--until I'd hear my mother calling for me to come inside.
     

Alas, a portion of childhood I pride myself on remembering--

Sincerely,

--Jen.

Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Indigo, & Violet...

I cried last night, and no one cared.

I sincerely wonder if I even cared a little...

I scarcely wonder whether or not I even knew why.

     I sat square in the middle of my bed. I took out my color pencils and aligned them--side-by-side--by color... Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet---careful to blend them according to the spectrum... 
     I was nearly halfway through the sorting--I have nearly one-hundred different color pencils in various colors, mind you--and my niece, as sweet as the day is long, wandered into my quarters, grabbed a handful of the pencils I had just sorted, and threw them as far as she could. Bless her little heart, she can't throw very far; but this alone sent me into a silent rage. 
     I stared blankly down at the interrupted line of color pencils... red, orange, blue--blue? No... blue doesn't belong there... Yellow, orange... no.... wrong... WRONG--
     I was shocked... so much so that I physically shrank down into myself... I slowly leaned my back against the headboard and brought my knees up to meet my chin. I hugged my ankles and quietly watched as she destroyed what remained of the line of color pencils that I had carefully sorted.
     Before long, a single hot tear rolled down my cold cheek. Somewhere inside, I was truly startled that I had actually begun crying. I hadn't cried in so long... not physically--. Sure, we all cry deep down inside without shedding any physical tears. But, I actually cried... I kid you not... I could have filled three, small shot glasses with my tears by the time I was done--no, by the time I had realized that I was crying over a dissheveled line of color pencils.
     Color pencils...! D: 
Geez...

     Before silently coming apart at the seams, I did manage to dole out this little jewel, though:

-With Love,

Jen