Mom dressed up like a clown
and arrived at school during recess on
my eighth birthday. She had this
plastic horn that she thought the kids
would like to hear her honk. Maybe she
thought the kids would be happy
to see a clown, but at eight you
are already miserable and jaded.
You already hate clowns, santa,
and angels. Your job at eight is
to be a snot: your work is to make
shitty volcano models out of clay
and make them erupt with baking
powder and vinegar. Your job is to
have a shitty attitude on the play
ground so no one would guess that
you still suck your thumb. So when
mommy shows up looking like an
asshole that is exactly what you
let her know. You take the cupcakes
without saying thank you and when she
leaves defeated you laugh at her,
unaware that twenty years down the
road you'll still be regretting that day
because she was the only person
to ever bake you a batch of your favorite
chocolate frosted vanilla cupcakes.
kristin dombrowski (New Haven, CT, 1981)
