When I Was Eight (6 Sentences)


When I was eight I decid­ed that I was going to be a Dal­las Cow­boy Cheer­leader wear­ing the sig­na­ture scant blue and white ensem­ble, and I’d strut in those go-go boots doing high kicks and splits and maybe appear on an episode of Fan­ta­sy Island.

But,” warned my moth­er, “you’d bet­ter start watch­ing your diet now cause you have my thighs and those girls have to be skin­ny.”

khalid alma­soud / Fot­er

When I was nine, after read­ing about King Tutankhamun, I planned to be an arche­ol­o­gist sift­ing through the hot gold­en sands of Egypt, dis­cov­er a new pharaoh who’d proph­e­sied my com­ing.

Okay,” said my moth­er as she flipped through my Nation­al Geo­graph­ic, “but I don’t under­stand why you’d want to be dig­ging up a bunch of dead bod­ies.”

When I was ten, like the rest of the world that day, I watched a young girl named Diana mar­ry a prince in Eng­land, and I decid­ed that I too would mar­ry a prince one day, only he would be Greek, and we’d make our home next door to some beau­ti­ful sun bleached pil­lared ruin.

If you say so,” my moth­er said, “but I got­ta tell you the truth, they don’t usu­al­ly mar­ry black girls from the projects.”

(Pre­vi­ous­ly post­ed on 6 Sen­tences)