The First of Many Times

On 4/6/2008 12:39:11 AM

The First of Many Times
3-19-08

For this assignment, I am asked to write about a memory before age ten. I have a lot of different memories from my childhood. Many of them are scattered, random, bits and pieces from events, but just not enough to write a good story about. All but one and that is when I had just turned nine years old.

The First of Many (blog / hw03)

I am nine years old. I am going to start third grade in two months. I like the color purple; I like hanging out with my friends from Girl Scouts; I like to color pictures of trees, rainbows, dogs, and stick people; I like to eat chocolate; I like to go swimming. I live in Atlanta, GA with my family. It is another hot summer day in the year of 1996. Emily, my best friend, is coming over to my house to spend the night. We are talking about how to get revenge on Kevin, another student, and then we are staying up late to watch the Olympics. My parents got tickets for my family to go to some of the games.

I did not know what would soon happen. A few days later, I woke up on a Saturday morning and come downstairs. I believed that everything was normal; it seemed the same as every Saturday. Dad stood in the kitchen flipping pancakes for the family’s breakfast. It was in the summer after second grade, in the middle of the Atlanta Olympics I came down to breakfast one morning with one side of my face paralyzed.

I go to look in the mirror, after my mom says that she thinks that I am being a kid and making silly faces. I stare into the mirror as if I want to pull something out from the inside of it. I stare, then walk out, and deny anything that I saw. I did not understand what was wrong. I hear mom calling people on the phone now. She is calling my doctors and I will have to go appointments all week. Mom and dad look worried.

I am nine years old, and I have never flown on a plane before. I get on the plane, and it is exciting but scary. I have fun looking out the windows. “Where are the angels?” I asked. Dad grinned, as he sat next to me on the airplane. I was astonished, as he informed me that “The angels are everywhere, but you cannot see them.” Within ten days my parents had me on a plane to California for surgery to remove a tumor on the auditory nerve of the ear in which I had little hearing.

I am only nine years old; I am scared that I will die. I lay down on a bed. The bed has wheels so I feel like I am going for a ride, but I knew that would soon end. A few minutes later, I am in a room, surrounded by men all dressed the same, with gowns and face masks. One of them puts a plastic mask on my face and tells me to take deep breaths. I do as I am told to do. The people become blurry as the voices fade. Now I am gone from this world as I sleep.

Though I was very scared, the surgery had a great outcome, and I woke up grinning from ear to ear. That was the first of many surgeries. I had a lot of pain killer medications after the surgery. With the medications and lack of activity, I gained a lot of weight. When I returned to school to start third grade, I had a tough time. I am chubby and half of my head is shaved. I am aware that this means I am not beautiful like all girls should be; I try to hide it, but nothing works. A mean girl on the playground harassed me every day this week and she called me “pregnant.” I wanted to hit her, but I knew that was not right; I ran away and cried. My friends from Brownies Girl Scouts didn’t know what to do at that young age, and stopped sticking up for me.

I did not know that nine years later, I would lose most of the other hearing, or that I would be fully deaf before my twentieth birthday, all of which I had always taken for granted. I was deaf in one ear, but never once considered myself as deaf, since I had perfect hearing in the other ear.

The hearing did not matter to me. I was scared. My friends didn’t know what to say or do, so some stuck with me, some turned away. I was a hyper kid with behavior problems. I told my consular that I felt like a baby bunny, in a field, being chased by bulls. I was helpless, but it is just one of the many things that have helped me to grow and learn.

Though we don’t see each other much now, Emily still is my best friend, through all these years. We got coffee and went to the mall, two weeks ago. The attached file is Emily and I as little girls, about age 12. Both of us are pretty much the same now, but stupider, taller, and less flat-chested.