"write about what disturbs you, particularly if it bothers no one else." - kathryn stockett, the help

everyone else laughed when the airheaded blonde girl made a racist joke in class.  our history teacher laughed, too.
i still think about that sometimes.

he told me that i wasn't very pretty.  he was joking, but still.  i was 9 years old.
i didn't finish my dinner that night.
i still think about that sometimes.

there was a homeless woman crying with her back against a 4 million dollar building.  she didn't have a sign. she didn't have a jar to collect cash; so no one stopped to help her, including me.
i still think about that sometimes.

my parents kissed each other in the kitchen on a night when i didn't think it would be the last time i saw that.
my mom opened her eyes too soon.
i still think about that sometimes.

the kid ahead of me in line whined because they gave him a candy cane that was broken.  he said broken wasn't good enough:
as if it wouldn't taste exactly the same as one that was whole.
i still think about that sometimes.

i don't even remember what my grandpa said before the last time he heard me laugh.
i still think about that sometimes.

my mother gathered the family together in our living room; she said my baby brother died before he was even big enough to feel heavy inside her belly.
neither of my parents cried.
i still think about that sometimes.

my piano teacher told me quietly that we couldn't have a recital anymore, she didn't want to touch the keys and get me sick.
i still think about that sometimes.

when i was 5, i loved my old cat so much, i wanted her to come to the store with us.
i hid her in the backseat until my mom got in the car, she meowed before we even made it to the main road.
my mom was angry instead of laughing.
i still think about that sometimes.

when i was 4, i remember telling my father that scripture was more important than television.  he turned it off immediately and told me i was right. i'm not so sure he thinks that anymore.
i still think about that sometimes.

i remember the only day our yellow lab was allowed to come inside, i didn't even know he was about to leave. i watched him sitting happily in the back of my dad's truck, oblivious.
i still think about that sometimes.

i remember once, my favorite babysitter wore a t-shirt that said "whatever, loser".
my mom didn't let her babysit us anymore.
i still think about that sometimes.

sammy & i would be playing with our toys on the floor when his mother would randomly decide that my hair was too long.
she would sit me down and cut off the hair resting with my eyebrows. she wouldn't even ask my mom; i didn't mind.
i still think about that sometimes.