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.
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