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I can remember a time when life seemed so hopeless.
I was about eight years old. We lived in this old beat
up drafty barn of a house. Not one wall or floor escaped
signs of abuse from previous tenants. The wooden floors
made all kinds of creaking sounds as you walked on them.
One time when I was busy scrubbing them, I got a huge
splinter under my left thumb nail. I screamed and howled,
hoping when my mother saw my little injury she would
give me a reprieve from my mopping chores. My mother
promptly got a needle out of the fruit cake tin we used as
a sewing kit, and she skillfully removed the splinter. I was
left with a throbbing thumb and no TLC. She gave a heavy
sigh and said "You'll live, now finish the floor".
I cried as I mopped, more from the fact that she didn't seem
to care, than the fact that I was in pain. I realize now that had she not cared, she wouldn't have bothered to remove
the splinter.
The one thing I hated most about that old house is it seemed
to have an over abundance of my most dreaded insect, the
cockroach. They ruled! I began to find ingenious ways not
to come into physical contact with them. I remember turning
on our bedroom light switch and touching a roach with my
fingers. I screamed at the top of my voice and vowed to
never let that happen to me again. The next time I turned on
the light switch I made sure to throw a shoe at the switch
first. That always made them scatter.
I remember one comical but sad instance when my poor
twin sister grabbed a glass in the dark when she got up
thirsty. She filled the glass without turning on the light.
There happened to be a roach in the glass and as soon
as she felt it touch her lips she screamed and dropped the
glass in the sink. She switched on the kitchen lights and
when she saw the roach, she threw up right in the sink.
I had dashed to the kitchen when I heard her scream.
After she explained her horror story, I couldn't help but
laugh. Secretly I really felt sorry for her and I thanked
God that it hadn't happened to me instead.
My hatred for roaches grew every time I opened the
kitchen cupboards to get a plate or bowl and the roaches
would scurry in every direction. I never could figure out
why so many roaches hung out where there were clean
dishes, unless they instinctively knew that is where food
would be placed.
They seemed to be quite intelligent creatures. By the time
you would grab anything to kill them with, you'd look back
and they would disappear. They seemed to have psychic
abilities.
Even though now that my circumstances have greatly improved,
and I no longer must endure the disdain of living with cockroaches anymore, I still find myself carefully opening my cupboard doors, hoping I won't find any uninvited guests.
By Connie Marcum Wong
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