I Stop Hating Karen

At first after she's born, I hate my sister Karen more than anything. She cries all the time, and she poops her diapers. And the grown-ups don't notice how disgusting she is, they just keep on liking her. They take millions of pictures of her. They never take pictures of Linda or me any more, but all Karen has to do is sit there, and out comes the camera, because that's apparently the cutest thing in the world. She sleeps in her crib. I want to know! How is that special? I sleep too, and no one ever wants to take a picture of me. She washes dishes. What's so big about that? Don't I do the same thing practically every night?

Things Were Better Before We Moved.

This is my back yard in Westminister. That window in back of me is my window, from the room I share with my sister Linda. We have a bunk bed, and I sleep in the bottom bunk because I'm the bigger one. Linda sleeps in the top bunk, with rails on her bed like it's a crib. One time I have this cake by my bed. It's a Little Debbie cake, that came in a plastic bag, and it has white frosting on top and white cream in the middle. I don't eat it in time and ants come into my room and get it. I tell Mama and Daddy that I know there are ants in my room because I can smell them (they smell like how blue cheese tastes). They don't believe me, but then they look, and they find them. Mama and Daddy are very impressed at me because I can smell ants.

I'm On Top of the World ...Only not really.

When I am in Sixth Grade, my school has a talent show. This isn't just the ordinary kind of talent show, where you can get up and sing, or play an instrument or whatever. This is a really serious, important one, where you have to go to practices ahead of time, and there are judges who award prizes. I really want to be in it. I like all talent shows, because I like singing. And singing in a talent show is better than just singing in Music Class, or being in Cherub Choir at church. I get to choose what song I sing, and I can do more than one of them if I want to. The prizes make this one better, but I would want to be in it just as much even without them.

Me and Jesus

Everyone knows it is very important to accept Jesus into your heart, because otherwise you won't be a Christian, and you can't go to Heaven. If you don't go to Heaven, you will go to Hell. You will burn in a lake of fire and be away from your family forever. If you do go to Heaven, you get to sing hymns and listen to Jesus' words for all of eternity. This sounds a lot like going to church for me, and it's not very interesting. But I sure don't want to go to Hell!

Before School

Channel Islands High School has three rows of classrooms. Beyond those to one side, are some portables. Beyond it to the other side, is the quad. A mural looks out over it, a painting of a Raider, which is the school mascot. Raiders, at least according to this painting, are approximately Greek-looking warriors. They aren’t, actually. They’re not anything real so far as I’ve been able to discover. Also, the student who designed the mural was not very good at drawing. I’d think the picture was an embarrassment to the school, only I don’t really think much of Channel Islands High either.

Below the mural on the quad, there are benches. I don’t like sitting on them. I bring a book and read, and I hope no one notices me.

I Turn Into a Bad Kid at Haydock Junior High School

Jesus says we should turn the other cheek. He says if someone hurts us, we should not fight back. Even if someone hurts us a lot of times, or steals our stuff, we should only give them love and forgiveness. This is a problem, because the kids that used to just yell insults once in a while, when I walked past on my way to the bus stop, now are doing it every day. Then they start throwing stones.

One day when I'm in Sixth Grade, I just can't take any more of it. I go after the kid who was throwing the stones, who's this little brat a couple years younger than me, named Richie. I start hitting Richie. Then he starts hitting me back. Then it's a real fight, and before I know it, I have Richie on the ground and I am hitting him again and again.

“You can stop now,” says this other kid from the neighborhood named Kevin. “You've won.”

I look down and he's right. Richie isn't fighting any more, he's just lying there crying. I turn around and walk the rest of the way to my bus stop, and it turns out the bus hasn't even come yet.

Mrs. Duddy

Cartooning, is one of my favorite classes in the Seventh Grade. The teacher, Mrs. Duddy is kind of old. She has a fluffy old-lady hairstyle like my Grandma wears. She uses red-red lipstick and a lot of face powder, and there's a strong smell of perfume that always hangs around her.

I like her class because I don't need to draw realistically in there. The idea is to draw pictures that tell a story, and if the people don't look much like real people, that is okay. I learn how to make angry-eyebrows, and sad-eyebrows in her class. I learn that a puff of smoke behind someone makes it look like they're running. Boobies only have to be one curved line sticking out, and another one in the middle of the girl's chest to make it look like she has two of them. I have a lot of fun drawing cartoons in the Seventh Grade. I fold notebook paper in half and draw cartoons all over it. I make funny stories and suspense stories. The other kids in class like my cartoons. Even the ones that don't like me very much pass them around, and ask for more when they're finished.