Warning: Contains suggestive content that might not be suitable for minors.
As a nine-year old, the highlight of my day came around 11 am when the mailman stopped by with letters and junk mail. Every day was a delight; if I wasn't receiving a letter from one of my fifteen international PenPals or my National Geographic subscription, I would at least get my beloved Oriental Trading catalogue. I spent many hours browsing through that brochure of shoddily-manufactured products, wishing that I was old enough to have a credit card so I could buy a gross of glow in the dark necklaces and Squeezee Wonder Wieners (those 80's toys that would "slide, slip & slither" out of your hands). Yes, I know I had big dreams.
One afternoon, I spotted the giant pile of mail on the kitchen table and make an immediate run for it. After tossing three bills on the floor, I spotted a catalogue that had the words TOYS written on the front with the words "NEW GLOW IN THE DARK PRODUCTS!" printed in giant block letters on the corner. It was sealed, so I ripped it open to discover a big glow-in-the-dark Squeeze Wonder Wiener prominently featured in the first few...
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“Time for Art Class!” Mrs. Pine announced.
It was the beginning of first grade, so this meant that for the first time, I had to leave the safe walls of our familiar classroom and venture to the mysterious art room across the school. My fellow classmates and I walked in a carefully regulated single-file line down the hall, passing older children that had a freedom in their steps we had not yet learned as terrified youngsters.
We entered a room with a peculiar smell, like a combination of sawdust and plastic. Children’s drawings hung over the entire room, coupled with yellowed reprints of famous works of art that I had recognized from episodes of Sesame Street. The room had wide and sturdy wooden tables covered in construction paper and crayons.
A woman stood with her back to us, furiously scribbling something on the chalkboard. “Everyone sit down,” she said, not looking back, “Now!”
As usual, everyone paired off and I was left sitting next to Mike, the church lady’s son that made fun of me because of my bad haircut. I climbed onto the stool as quietly as I could and tried to read some...
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“I tink it’s a girl dis time,” my aunt, "Nagynéni", said, closing one eye and framing my cousin’s pregnant belly with her finger like a movie director. Anyu, Nagynéni, my cousin Erin, and I were sitting in the living room, watching Erin’s two boys play with dozens of dinosaur toys.
“Yes, yes, that’s what your sister keeps saying, too,” Erin replied, only half paying attention as her youngest boy tried to reach for a large box of toys on a tall shelf.
“You’re carrying high. You’ll be surprised. It’ll be a girl,” said Anyu.
Erin rolled her eyes. “Yes, well, explain the penis in the sonogram then.” She stood up carefully, holding the precious cargo of her 9-month pregnant belly as she lifted herself from the couch.
“Eeeeeeeeeeh, dat doesn’t mean anyting,” Nagynéni said, waving her hand dismissively. “Ignore the penis. It could still
turn into a girl, you know.”
“So, are you a little nervous about going in for the C-Section next week?” I asked to the back of Erin's head as she walked towards her children.
“I really try not to think about it,” Erin said, effortlessly ...
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