Posts Tagged ‘ boys ’

The School Girls

Wednesday, September 12th, 2012

“Venus and Chips…A Long Time Ago!”

Manuel likes to eat the enormous crayons in the wooden box. First he bites off a chunk of the yellow one, swallows it, grins and reaches for the red one.

I’m 6 years old, in Miss Allison’s first grade class and I like to observe my world.

Between bites of crayon, Manuel spoons thick, white paste from the jar that sits on our little table. The paste smells nice I think, like parakeet feathers. Manuel eats the paste. He only eats paste and crayons when I am at his table.

My friend Lancey is in my class and she and I are in love with our friend Darice’s cousin, Little Frankie. (It’s a small town.)

At recess and lunch my girlfriends and I turn into big horses. We slap our legs and race wildly across the vast, hard dirt playground. We are shiny brown horses who whinny and chase the boys who scatter before us.

I hate being a horse. I hate chasing boys. I can’t see the point to this mad galloping and racing and boy chasing.

But, I am 6 years old and this is what my country girl friends love to do. I want to be with my friends.

This is how it starts: (more…)

Welcome To Phobia Land

Wednesday, August 22nd, 2012

 

Phobia Flowers That Live In Phobia Land

I live in Phobia Land.

My family is riddled with phobias.

Right now my 6 year old grandson Loch has what his mother calls The Morbid Blood Phobia and he also changes his under pants and his long pants 4-5 times a day. If he gets even a tiny bit of pee on them he becomes frantically unsettled (hysterical) and has to remove his clothes and start over.

Today was Loch’s first day in the first grade. His mother tells me he had a Big Melt Down and Stubborn Fit before she finally got him there.

God knows what will happen when he gets a little pee on his pants at school. At home he whips off his under and top pants and runs around naked until we insist he put some pants on. This will be more then interesting if he shakes off all his pants at school.

Looking into the future, I hear a phone call from the principal. (more…)

Skeeter Stings Teenager…Outcome Uncertain

Tuesday, January 10th, 2012

 

Skeeter Has The Answer For All Of Us

There’s a handsome man in the beauty shop, but when he opens his mouth I realize he isn’t handsome. He’s annoying.

He’s walked in and settled himself in a brown plastic chair against the wall, way behind the one I’m sitting in. He acts like it’s his personal chair.

He’s snortling and saying things about Alaska, trying to get my attention but I’m not giving it. I am not in the mood to amuse a strange man.

My granddaughter, 9-year-old Lexi, is getting her first Beauty Shop haircut.

She’s sitting transfixed in a high booster chair in the regular salon chair in front of a large mirror. The stylist, a sixty-something woman with slicked back long, long, long dragging reddish/gray hair, is snipping and snapping around Lexi with a sharp pair of silver scissors.

I’m thinking the stylist needs a haircut really badly.

The man in the back chair keeps nattering on. Lexi’s beautician, and the other one in the shop, largely ignore him.

Both ladies are methodically cutting, whacking, and curling their client’s tresses.

I’m yawning.

Three young boys walk in. The oldest asks if anyone can cut his and his brother’s ¬†hair.

“Just have a seat,” they’re told. “We’ll be with you shortly.”

The two youngest boys look like they are in early grade school. These two boys grab seats and the older one, about fifteen, sits next to me.

He looks part Asian. The other two don’t.

I’m wondering how this family got mixed and what might be their interesting story.

Lexi ignores the boys. She is too involved in her first real haircut and maybe too young to feel embarrassed by her wet straggly head of hair and her butt on a little’s kids booster seat.

Everybody’s quiet. Everybody except The Man In The Back Chair Against The Wall.

“My name’s Skeeter,” he says. “You sure have nice weather here. I’m from Alaska.”

The boys are very polite. They nod toward the man and acknowledge him.

The boy next to me says, “My name is Ronnie and my little brother’s are Ace and Cash.”

The client who is getting her hair curled is finished now. She’s about eighty and she leaves happily with a tall pile of red curls standing straight up off the top of her boney head.

Ace, who looks about six-years-old, is called by the other stylist to get in the vacant chair for his cut.

The woman asks if the boys are having a nice Christmas holiday.

They are.

Skeeter speaks up. “I wrote a book,” he says. “I got it right here.”

The boys turn towards him to look but I don’t. (more…)


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