Tuesday, July 1, 2014

Summer Special Memoir vol. 7

Tight Rain Boots
This particular Wednesday morning sky makes my heart gloomy.  The sky is about to cry using its heavy and dark clouds.  The Cream Sandwich and the Typhoon Roll are not available today, yet it’s still dry outside.  My heart sinks deeply because the moist, yet dry air equals wearing my ugly and tight boots.  My breakfast toast is repeatedly dunked into my sweetened tea, then mindlessly sucked in my mouth.  “Your bus is here.  Hurry up!”  The private Buddhist preschool elephant-shaped bus is patiently waiting for me outside, making a rumbling noise.  My body doesn’t want to move as my mother wants me to because of my rain boots curse.  Should I slip on my regular shoes, run into the bus, and ignore the consequence?  More than enough embarrassment would wait for me if my mother followed me into to the bus with my rain boots in her hands.  She might yell at me, “Don’t you dare to do that again!” 

There is a particular flashback memory in my mind.  When my mother didn’t allow me to wear my favorite creamy white cotton dress, I wore it anyway and escaped from the second floor window.  Going through the veranda, I was free and did not anybody in my family.  It turned into the situation into double trouble. First, I wore something I wasn’t supposed to.  Second, I crawled out like a thief.  My blood will freeze instantly, if I sneak out again, just like last time.  Any potentially miserable scenario should be avoided. 

Reluctantly sitting on the edge of the entrance, my hands grab my boots.  My toes are straight like a ballet dancer so that that they can fit into my boot.  Then, both edges of the left boot are tightly pulled with incredible force.  My feet wiggle into the depth of the boots, trying to show maximum effort.  Thud!  My body flips and rolls backward.  “Do I have to wear my rain boots?”  My mother’s voice falls on my head, “Stop goofing around!  Your bus is waiting for you!”

Four minutes later, a grumpy little girl with tight boots finally steps into the elephant bus.  “Good Morning,” Mr. Principal, the driver, brightly greets.  The bus guide teacher of the week is Ms. Asada.  As soon as Ms. Asada’s smile appears on her face, my bluest thought magically blows away.  The very important morning school bus routine awaits me.  All the jokes from the monthly kid’s magazine are beautifully stored in my brain from the night before.  Telling these excellently selected jokes is an urgent task.  It should be done before I forget.  These jokes are all approved of by my sharp sense of humor. A stand-up-comedy routine is performed just for the bus guide, as if the jokes are my original.  At age four, I am so proud of being able to select a few sensational ones from a couple dozen of jokes.  Since no one acknowledges me or my talent, an overly assertive approach is necessary to get the spotlight on me.  Quite simply, recognition is what I deserve.  Sorry to the original copyright holder, but “the show” is mine. These exceptional jokes are selected by my sharp intelligence.  In addition, who expects that a four-years-old girl could “site” an information source?  To show a clearer picture, an innocent and attention craving four-year-old kid has been talking non-stop until the bus started rolling into the school gate. 

A few seconds before my last joke, the bus arrives at school.  Darn it!  The rest of the joke is up in the air until I go home.  Fortunately my pre-kindergartener’s devastation will not last long. A series of busy activities can distract me easily.  Chances are, some of the same jokes might be repeated on the way home.  The merciful bus guide teacher, who is also my best audience, never mentions how many times I have repeated my jokes throughout the week.  She is kind enough to not tell other teachers about my jokes, because she knows that I am looking for a second best audience.

Kids change from their outside shoes to their inside shoes in the entrance foyer.  Every single voice and noise echoes in here.  Who is talking about what?  From the volume of the noise, a sense of all the students is evident to begin the day.  Checking the shoe shelf nervously, I wonder how many other kids wore rain boots today.  One pair almost makes me hopeful.  I pathetically admit that that pair is mine. It is not even raining today anyways.  There is too much moisture in the air, so some sprinkling will happen possibly later, according to my parents.