HOME | DD

Description
When I was younger,
there was a time where all of my friends
were boys.
Girls wanted to play mommy and ponies
I wanted to play tag and race cars
and so did the boys
so we did.

Not a big deal.

I was six when I went over to a friends house for the first time.
He was really neat--
He had a box full of race cars and a bubble machine
that made the biggest bubbles.

One day, as we were having snacks
(because snack time is serious business, no matter what age you are)
I decided I wanted another one.
It was a stick of string cheese, and I was six--
clearly I was a growing lady and I needed my dose of dairy.

So I walked up to his mother and said
"please," because my momma raised me right, "can I have another string cheese?"
And I will never forget the hesitant look I got
the curious head tilt, the squinted eyes;
it's forever in my mind. It's always there.
Anyway, I didn't understand why it was so confusing.
Really, I just wanted another piece of cheese.

To be honest, I don't remember if she ever gave me the cheese.
Anticlimactic, I know.

I got home a few hours later, incident forgotten.
(Dude, he had mini scooters, and I was hooked.)
My mother gave me a hug, asked me about my time,
to which I got into an animated discussion about scooters,
because I was six and completely knowledgeable about the world, thank you,
when my mother sat me down at the table.
She looked at me seriously, lip drawn between teeth and
eyebrows so close they could have been touching.
I remember thinking it looked like a caterpillar.
She looked at me seriously, too seriously to look at
a six year old girl with frizzy blonde pigtails and
eyes filled with love, trust, and innocence.

She told me,
"Sweetie, you can't ask for more food anymore, okay?"
and I didn't know what she was talking about, because, hello, I was ready for dinner in a few hours, mom?
She smoothed my frizzy blonde hair back, and I wanted to know what was going on, because, once again, I was six--
I had important business to attend to, obviously. This was taking up my time.
"His mother called today, she said you wanted more food. You can't ask anymore, okay? It's not good."
to which I replied
"It's not good to ask for food when you're hungry?"
with such childish innocence that my mother sighed as if it hurt her. I didn't like it.

She said,
"People are going to say things if you ask for food. Never ask. You cannot ask for more. You will be made fun of. People will talk."
And she left me there to let that sink in,
let me sit there and absorb it, absorb that food doesn't equal good,
it equals kids being cruel to one another, it equals mean names, probably something horrible like slowpoke or meanie.
(I wish those were still the worst things you could be called.)

My mother made dinner that night and
I didn't eat until she cried and said she was sorry, that she was lying
and then I cried because she was crying and
food had never tasted so awful.

I grew up, eventually
six turned into ten and ten turned into fourteen and fourteen turned into seventeen
and to this day
I hate everything that I am
because I can still hear my mother weeping
because I knew she wasn't lying
when she said that people can be cruel

To this day
I can't breathe when i have to order food
I can't swallow past the lump in my throat
because I will never forget
that judgmental look
and the sound of my mother crying.

He had really cool scooters, and a bubble machine
that made the biggest bubbles.
But I never went to his house again.

Description
When I was younger,
there was a time where all of my friends
were boys.
Girls wanted to play mommy and ponies
I wanted to play tag and race cars
and so did the boys
so we did.

Not a big deal.

I was six when I went over to a friends house for the first time.
He was really neat--
He had a box full of race cars and a bubble machine
that made the biggest bubbles.

One day, as we were having snacks
(because snack time is serious business, no matter what age you are)
I decided I wanted another one.
It was a stick of string cheese, and I was six--
clearly I was a growing lady and I needed my dose of dairy.

So I walked up to his mother and said
"please," because my momma raised me right, "can I have another string cheese?"
And I will never forget the hesitant look I got
the curious head tilt, the squinted eyes;
it's forever in my mind. It's always there.
Anyway, I didn't understand why it was so confusing.
Really, I just wanted another piece of cheese.

To be honest, I don't remember if she ever gave me the cheese.
Anticlimactic, I know.

I got home a few hours later, incident forgotten.
(Dude, he had mini scooters, and I was hooked.)
My mother gave me a hug, asked me about my time,
to which I got into an animated discussion about scooters,
because I was six and completely knowledgeable about the world, thank you,
when my mother sat me down at the table.
She looked at me seriously, lip drawn between teeth and
eyebrows so close they could have been touching.
I remember thinking it looked like a caterpillar.
She looked at me seriously, too seriously to look at
a six year old girl with frizzy blonde pigtails and
eyes filled with love, trust, and innocence.

She told me,
"Sweetie, you can't ask for more food anymore, okay?"
and I didn't know what she was talking about, because, hello, I was ready for dinner in a few hours, mom?
She smoothed my frizzy blonde hair back, and I wanted to know what was going on, because, once again, I was six--
I had important business to attend to, obviously. This was taking up my time.
"His mother called today, she said you wanted more food. You can't ask anymore, okay? It's not good."
to which I replied
"It's not good to ask for food when you're hungry?"
with such childish innocence that my mother sighed as if it hurt her. I didn't like it.

She said,
"People are going to say things if you ask for food. Never ask. You cannot ask for more. You will be made fun of. People will talk."
And she left me there to let that sink in,
let me sit there and absorb it, absorb that food doesn't equal good,
it equals kids being cruel to one another, it equals mean names, probably something horrible like slowpoke or meanie.
(I wish those were still the worst things you could be called.)

My mother made dinner that night and
I didn't eat until she cried and said she was sorry, that she was lying
and then I cried because she was crying and
food had never tasted so awful.

I grew up, eventually
six turned into ten and ten turned into fourteen and fourteen turned into seventeen
and to this day
I hate everything that I am
because I can still hear my mother weeping
because I knew she wasn't lying
when she said that people can be cruel

To this day
I can't breathe when i have to order food
I can't swallow past the lump in my throat
because I will never forget
that judgmental look
and the sound of my mother crying.

He had really cool scooters, and a bubble machine
that made the biggest bubbles.
But I never went to his house again.