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“‘Don’t do that. You’ll poke your eye out.’ That’s what my mom says. No
matter what I’m doing.”
I told that to my friend Jeremy Goodman as we trotted to the playground
behind our school.
Jeremy laughed. “Your mom really says that, Marco?”
I nodded and picked up the pace, keeping side by side with Jeremy as we
crossed Fulton Street.
“Last night, I had a lot of homework,” I told him. “I took out three new
pencils and started to sharpen them. My mom came into the room and said, ‘Don’t
do that. You’ll poke your eye out.’”
Jeremy laughed again. “What does she want you to use? Crayons?”
I didn’t laugh. It wasn’t funny to me. I’m twelve years old, and my mom
treats me like some kind of baby.
She’s always warning me about everything I do.
“Don’t climb that tree. You’ll break your neck.”
“Don’t fill the bathtub so full. You’ll drown.”
“Don’t eat so fast. You’ll choke.”
She has a warning about everything! I keep expecting her to say,
“Marco, don’t breathe so much. You’ll break your nose!”
She drives me crazy. She constantly thinks up new ways I might hurt myself or
do some kind of damage.
“Sit up straight or your spine will curve.”
“Don’t make ugly faces. Your face will freeze, and you’ll always look like
that.”
“Don’t pick your nose. Your finger will get stuck.”
She’s also the world’s expert on germs. According to Mom, everything you touch or see will give you germs.
“Don’t hug the dog. It has germs.”
“Don’t take a bite of Jeremy’s candy bar. Germs.”
“Don’t put your hands in your pockets. Germs.”
Mom is always on guard duty. Always alert. Always ready to step in and warn
me about something.
It makes my life a little hard.
She doesn’t like for me to play softball with my friends. She’s sure I’ll
break my leg. That’s if I’m lucky. If I’m unlucky, I’ll break every bone in my
body.
Do you know how hard it would be to break every bone in your
body?
My mom is the only person in the world who thinks people do it every day of
the week!
That’s why I had to sneak out of the house to go play softball at the
playground with Jeremy and some other kids from my school.
It was a warm, sunny day. The green lawns along Fulton Street all glowed in
the sunlight. The air smelled fresh and sweet.
It felt so good to be jogging down the sidewalk with Jeremy, looking forward
to playing a game, laughing and spending time with friends.
School had let out early because of some kind of teachers’ meeting. I hurried
home and dropped off my backpack.
The house was empty, except for Tyler, my dog. He’s part cocker spaniel, part
we-don’t-know-what.
Tyler was happy to see me. He licked my face.
Mom doesn’t like it when I let Tyler lick my face. You know why. The terrible
“G” word.
Mom was out shopping or something. I guess she forgot that I’d be home early.
Such a lucky break. I changed into a ragged pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Then
I grabbed my baseball glove and hurried out to meet Jeremy before Mom returned
home.
“Marco, what would your mom do if she caught you playing softball?” Jeremy
asked.
“Warn me,” I replied. “She never punishes me or anything. She just warns me.”
“My parents never warn me about anything,” Jeremy said.
“That’s because you’re perfect!” I teased.
Jeremy slugged me on the arm.
Actually, I wasn’t teasing. Jeremy is perfect. He gets all A’s in
school. He’s good at sports. He takes care of his little sister. He almost never
gets in trouble.
He doesn’t touch anything with germs.
Perfect…
We passed the bus stop and crossed Fairchild Avenue. Our school came into
view. It’s a long, one-story building that stretches in a straight line for
nearly a whole block.
The walls of the school are painted bright yellow. As yellow as an egg yolk.
Mom says they discuss the color a lot at Parent Association
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