was upset but only upset enough to cry so the nursery lady - the pretty one - one pick me up to settle me. She'd let me, after I stopped crying, play with her earrings clipped to her pretty, fleshy lobes.
No, but this time my plan was foiled; mom was nearby and I couldn't even get the less pretty of the nursery ladies to scoop and swaddle me from whatever misery had befallen me.
"Say some Spanish...do your Spanish," Mom would say, trying to take my mind off my misery and the plot behind, and entwined with, my misery.
I remember thinking how upset I was and how inconsolable, becoming ever more upset that the pretty nursery lady would find me all the less desirable because of this little tirade. Would she ever let me sit in her lap again? Would she ever tell me sweet things about me that I loved to hear: about what a good boy I was, how cute and sweet, adorable and smart, how well I could play and share with the other children, how I could be no trouble at all. No, not me the Spanish-speaking crying boy who loved a pretty lady in a Presbyterian nursery.
No, but this time my plan was foiled; mom was nearby and I couldn't even get the less pretty of the nursery ladies to scoop and swaddle me from whatever misery had befallen me.
"Say some Spanish...do your Spanish," Mom would say, trying to take my mind off my misery and the plot behind, and entwined with, my misery.
I remember thinking how upset I was and how inconsolable, becoming ever more upset that the pretty nursery lady would find me all the less desirable because of this little tirade. Would she ever let me sit in her lap again? Would she ever tell me sweet things about me that I loved to hear: about what a good boy I was, how cute and sweet, adorable and smart, how well I could play and share with the other children, how I could be no trouble at all. No, not me the Spanish-speaking crying boy who loved a pretty lady in a Presbyterian nursery.
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