In general, I think I was a pretty normal 6-year-old.
I even got along with most kids my age. With the exception of one. We’ll call him S.
I’m sure wherever S is now, he’s a very nice guy with a girlfriend and lots of money. But at the age of 6, S daily confessed his love for me during the precious half hour of recess which my 6-year-old self did not appreciate in the least bit.
My 6-year-old brain was continually confused and annoyed by these confessions. I had two ideas of love: Mommy and Daddy love and sibling love. S did not fit either of these categories and so I had to deal with him the only ways I knew how.
I tried everything to stop him.
…but no matter what I did…
…he never relented.
After several days of this, my 6-year-old self had run out if ideas. My only sanctuary was home, where I could play in peace without sneak-attack kisses, hugs and confessions from S.
“Monica, I just got off the phone with S’s mom…”
“He’s coming over later for a play date!”
I’ve recently discussed the concept of “play date” with some people, and this concept couldn’t fit better than in this scenario. It’s basically when parents decide you should play with each other because the parents are friends, so why not the children? This usually is awesome about 90% of the time because you get to drive in the car to someone’s house who probably has a PlayStation or something and you can play Mortal Kombat because their parents don’t know your Dad says its too violent and your mom thinks the blood squirting everywhere is gross.
But this was not one of those 90% times. This time, my own mother had unknowingly taken away my only safe haven, my only solitude from S. I was in utter and total shock.
“You guys have fun, I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”
I was completely at a loss. This was literally the worst play date I had ever had in my ENTIRE existence up until that point. I WAS going to contract cooties, I was sure. I was going to contract cooties, not be able to go to school and DIE. And if I died, I would never get to be a marine biologist or learn ballet or meet Winnie the Pooh. There seemed to be no hope, no light at the end of the tunnel until in a disgustingly amorous gush, he said….
At first, I despaired. He was now waxing poetic in my own family room.
But after a moment of actually thinking about what he had just said….
… I got an idea.
I probably made some excuse to go to the bathroom or something, but I quickly ran away from S…
…and ran straight to my parents bedroom to carry out my plan.
And there I had it! In my hands, I held the power to end all the suffering and annoyance S had caused me! What an idiot! He had confessed with his own mouth his downfall!
I returned to S extremely comforted and proud of my solution.
“I cut off all my eyelashes.”
He did not seem remotely impressed, but my words had the desired effect. He promptly left the room.
Congratulating myself, I continued to play with my toys without a worry about S.
But I think I also got spanked for using scissors.