A depature of sorts tonight. I was looking through some old manuscripts and ran across this. It happened to also be on disk (I'm so lazy) so I decided to share it. I wrote it to express a little of what it was like to grow up in a family of boys. My four brothers never really appreciated me! I guess it was kind of a drag having a girl around sometimes. But I love all of them and I don't think any of them hate me anymore...at least I hope not. Enjoy...
I think my brother hates me…
I think my brother hates me.
He won’t let me touch his baseball cards.
He won’t let me play with his robot.
I can’t even go in his room,
unless I knock,
and give him a cookie,
and just look, but
don’t touch anything.
My brother even says he hates me.
He said “I hate you!”
When I told Mom about the two cookies,
four plates,
three glasses,
and half-eaten apple core under his bed.
He said “I HATE you!”
when I told Dad about the snake
he borrowed from Jimmy Winters
and hid in his closet in a shoe box.
He said “I REALLY HATE you!”
when I told Grandma what he said
about the long black hair on her chin.
But maybe he just likes to say
“I HATE YOU!”
because it sounds BIG
and LOUD
and TOUGH.
Brothers are like that sometimes.
I think my brother does hate me,
sometimes.
But other times,
when he isn’t thinking about being my brother,
he sort of likes me.
He says I’m funny.
He says I’m “not so bad, for a girl”.
He tells me about curve balls,
and space invaders, and wrestling.
He even showed me how to spit.
My brother said “I love you” once,
when I had a fever
and little spots all over
and I had to stay in bed for days.
He brought me a Popsicle.
“Why?” I asked.
He said, “Cause I love you,
you little squirt, now shut up.”
I think my brother hates me,
but only a little,
and only sometimes,
and only for now.
Because he knows
and I know
we’re family.
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