LIFE WITH AN 8 YEAR OLD GIRL Pt 1
My Daughter: Mom, are you going to tell me “No” every time I ask for something?
Me: I told your Daddy “yes”, just be grateful for that and leave me alone, I’m tired and I need a nap.
MY DAUGHTER: Mom, are we are famous?
ME: Why do you keep asking me that question, why do you think I am famous? OH, wait, you said “we” so is it both of us that are famous?
MY DAUGHTER: Yes, WE are famous.
ME: REALLY? What makes “us” famous?
MY DAUGHTER: Because me and ________ typed your name into Google and there are pictures of you, your email address and lots of stuff so that means we are famous.
ME: Okay, so what am I suppose to do with this fame you say I have? How am I suppose to act?
MY DAUGHTER: Well, first you have to wear high heels. THEN YOU HAVE TO get a dress to match the high heels. THEN you have to get a purse that matches the dress and the high heels. THEN you have to SMILE ALL THE TIME AND MAKE EVERY BODY LIKE YOU. THEN, you will need to get a BOYFRIEND.
ME: OH! So I am doing this fame thing wrong, huh? Well, I am glad you put me on the right path.
Madear is short in stature. She speaks in gentle tones with a high pitched voice. Her skin is dark. I liken it to the color of the blackberries growing on prickly vines in the Louisiana summer sun. To get those berries when they are plump, juicy and sweet, we check on them daily and hope that no one else beats us to the tree or field to pick them first. Plump, juicy and sweet –just like my Madear– are those blackberries, and their darkness makes them pretty and inviting to my heart.
Those blackberries make me anxious to be near the source of their sweetness. The darker they become, the more my mouth waters with anticipation to pick them, wash them, and put them in my mouth, if I can wait long enough to reach running water. Continue reading Louisiana Blackberry Summer a prose by Jolivette Anderson-Douoning