Sep 25, 2009

I Am Soooooo Special

I am special. I know I am. Everyone tells me so.

Yesterday my teacher patted the top of my head. "You are such a woooonderful student," she said. "You always do your work and don't talk too much. I hope you are in my room year after year."

Michael Shawn Williams is in my class. He goes to time-out most every day. My teacher yells, "Michael Shawn! You are just a chattering chatterbox," then reaches for his hand and leads him away. It is awfully frustrating for me because Michael Shawn yakety-yak-yaks all the long-lived day.

My next door neighbor, Mr. Kervin, was outside talking with his next door neighbor, Mrs. Hyde. They were standing between their two yards when Mrs. Hyde suddenly made a victory sign with her fingers and touted, "the publicans will definitely combat the hee-haws!" Mr. Kervin was still lightly chuckling when I rode by on my bike. "Hello, Mr. Kervin! Look at me," I shouted as I stretched my hand to the sky. He pointed toward me and said to Mrs. Hyde, "Now, that is a delightful child." I was so proud it felt like a balloon full of bubble gum exploded inside my chest.

Nick told his mom that I was his best friend. I have so many, many, many friends! It is probably because I am special but anyway, having friends is nice. We sometimes hug, hold hands, and sit together on the bus. I am especially glad that Nick plays games with me because I always win.

I have a babysitter, Nell, because I am too young to leave alone -- so the adults say. Yet, I could color just as well without an aide. Sometimes I tease her. "Catch me, catch me. You can't catch me!" I jet from the house to the yard, then hear groans and feet pounding behind me. Nell shouts, "I'm gonna catch you -- you -- you! Yes, I am and when I do, you are gonna be one sooorrrry messssssss." After a hard race, I drop to the ground. Eventually, Nell finds me. She hovers over me, tickles my tummy, and we giggle. At night she holds me close and sings in my ear, though not too good, "YOU are my sunshine, my only sunnnnssssshine." I think she thought my face turned red just because I forgot to wear my sunblock that afternoon.

Mr. Henry T. Johnson is Abuela's black schnauzer. I am his favorite of all kids. He licks my face and wags his tail. When I throw his red ball, he jumps and catches it in the air. At first I thought that was such a silly name to give a little bitty dog. But now I think it is a silly name to give a great big guy.

Once when I was little, I ate a bowl of Jump-High soup. I only wanted to hop around but every time I swallowed, I shot straight up out of my chair. I ducked my head but it smashed into the ceiling anyway. When I plopped back down I scolded, "Better not feed me any more Jump-High soup 'cause it made me have a hole in my head." My Abuela's eyes got wide and she made a whistling sound through her lips. Then she doubled over, pounded the table with the palm of her hand, and shook her head back and forth. I had never, ever heard her laugh that loud. When she caught her breath she sputtered, "Oh, my sweet child. Neither the soup nor the ceiling caused that big 'ole hole in your head!" I wonder what she meant?

She loves me more than anyone else because whereever we go, she tells everyone, "This little person is the greatest thing that ever happened!" She explains that she is not bragging because what she says is true and if something is true, it is exactly as she says with no need for exaggeration.

Being special is-- well, it is special. It is the most special thing in the whole wide world. It is more special than-- well, not special. It makes my body feel like I am made of ooey, gooey melted M&M's. Yum. Yum.

© Coninc,, Short Stories For Short Folk (Library of Congress 1-147158261, pending)

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