So there was this boy, Anthony, the son of the babysitter I had when I was five. I said once that I could write a whole poem about how he loved to get me in trouble. Here you go.
One time when we were five we were doing some sort of craft and Anthony was telling me about God. In response to him telling me God was everywhere, I waved my plastic scissors in the air like a sword, saying I was cutting the air, saying I was cutting God. Because to my five year old self, the air and God were the same thing. Anthony cried to his mother, and I was put on a time-out.
I loved Winnie the Pooh when I was little. I had a stuffed Tigger, and Eeyore, and Pooh Bear. But my Pooh Bear had the wrong colour fur on his nose. I spent one afternoon plucking every bit of fur from that poor bear’s nose and left a mess on the carpet. Anthony cried to his mother, and I was put on a time-out.
You know how when some people eat cereal they drink the milk from the bowl when they’re done? I never did that. I ate the cereal and the milk together, but I never drank the leftover milk in the bowl. One time I decided to try it, and lifted the bowl to my lips to drink from it like a cup. I still don’t know why, but Anthony cried to his mother, and I was put on a time-out.
I was never a nap-time child. At home, nap-time meant lying on my parents bed watching a Land Before Time movie. When I was a little older and in day-care after kindergarten in the mornings, nap-time meant going into the older kids room and colouring in the colouring books because I couldn’t nap during the day like the other younger kids. So when I was at the babysitter’s and nap-time rolled around, I just lay there, singing to my Pooh Bear until we were allowed to get up again. You must see the pattern here; Anthony cried to his mother, and I was put on a time-out. For not sleeping.
Every little kid knows if you find a dead bird on the sidewalk you don’t touch it. It’s full of “diseases” and “can make you sick.” One time on the way to the park I found a dead bird on the sidewalk. I knew not to touch it, but I figured I was allowed to nudge it with my boot, to make sure it was actually dead. Anthony cried to his mother about how I touched the dead bird, and when we got home, and I was put on a time-out.
Anthony, you little shit disturber I hope someone tattled on you when you were older, because these things happened to me when I was five and I still remember them clear as day, what did I ever do to you to deserve to many time-outs?