Being A Kid’s Not Easy

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: October 07, 2016

A A A | A A A

Submitted: October 07, 2016



Did you ever have a real bad day? Well, I remember one day, difficult to forget and I was only eight years old.

The way it started, I already knew it was going to be a bad one. At breakfast my mother broke the news that my cousin was coming over in the afternoon and I was to play with her while the old folks would sit and talk on the porch. Seeing the funny face I made, my mother began to build up my cousin telling me how smart she was, sweet and good, and after all, my age, so we should be able to do fun things together.

“I don’t want to play with her.” I said, “She’s a girl.”

Mother was a kind lady and said something good about everyone and never seemed to see the bad in anyone, especially family. Let the truth be told, my cousin was a selfish brat. To please my mother, and doing nothing else in the afternoon of that sunny Sunday, I waited around for my uncle, aunt, and the brat. When my mother announced their arrival, I saw the brat walking very slowly behind the skirt of her mother and in her hand held behind her back, I spotted a chocolate rabbit. Little did I know it was Easter Sunday. But that didn’t really matter. At that moment nothing in the world mattered except that yummy lookin’ chocolate rabbit. That rabbit looked great for two reasons even though one would have been enough. The first reason was that I was crazy for chocolate. Food wasn’t important, chocolate was. The second reason was that I loved rabbits. In my backyard, in a wire cage, I had a rabbit. A great rabbit, beautiful in every way. He was my buddy, my friend, and I loved him.

Trying to figure out how I could get that mouth-watering chocolate rabbit from the hands of my cousin though my mouth and into my belly stretched the thinking of an eight year old. I needed a plan and in a heartbeat I had one. Knowing it was warm and chocolate melts, and knowing my sweet adorable cousin, as my mother said, couldn’t stand the melted chocolate all over her hands, I brought her to my sunny backyard to play with my rabbit. In no time at all, as I figured, I gave her my hanky to wipe her hands and helped her out by holding the chocolate rabbit. Then I opened the cage door for the rabbit to jump out, start running, and hoping my cousin would run after the real rabbit; and, forget about the chocolate rabbit. In two clicks of the clock, the chocolate rabbit was gone, while the rabbit and my cousin found greener grass in the neighbor’s yard to play.

The neighbors were an old couple who always found a reason to yell at me, and never ever liked hearing me yell back. They really hated my rabbit for eating their grass… and decided, I don’t know when, to eliminate the problem with my rabbit, by putting poison in their grass. Only after I heard my cousin screaming and seeing my dead rabbit in her lap did I realize that those awful miserable neighbors did my rabbit in.

There I was with a screamin’ cryin’ cousin holding my dead rabbit, with chocolate all over my face and hands, and feeling such pain I rarely felt. Like a deer, I ran to my yard, picked up the biggest rock I could hold in my hand, ran back to the neighbor’s lawn, and with all my might, threw the rock through their big bay window.

You would think it was the beginning of World War III. The neighbors came out of their house swearing words I never heard of before. My mother, father, uncle and aunt came running over faster than I have ever believed old folks could run; and my cousin was hysterical holding the dead rabbit, then looking at my face full of chocolate reminding herself of her lost chocolate rabbit. There I was right in the center of that commotion. I stood there dumbfounded. Everyone was yelling at me. Naturally, I denied eating my cousin’s rabbit, and throwing the rock. But, I must confess, the more I said, the worse it got. No one was on my side. I stood alone surrounded by everyone, shouting and shaking their fists, and never waiting for the answer to the question my mother kept repeating over and over, “How could you do it?”.

“What’s gotten into you?” my father kept saying.

The folks living next door were furious, swearing at me, than at my father and my mother for having me, and said they could kill me, and, there I was only eight years old, hoping to make it to my ninth year.

Darkness had a way of quieting the noise and calming the nerves, and when I was alone with my mother sitting at the kitchen table having some of her great chocolate cookies, that only mother could make, with some cold milk made in heaven, my mother asked me what I thought about lying, cheating my cousin, throwing rocks, and speaking disrespectfully to the people much older than I was.

I thought about everything I did that Easter Sunday, and answered my mother’s question by saying “Mother, it’s really not easy being a kid.”

© Copyright 2018 Lenny Lowengrub. All rights reserved.

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