Personal Narrative- Ridicule of a Child

Personal Narrative- Ridicule of a Child

“Why do you ask?... Well, she’s weird.... For instance, she wears black outfits that cling to her body with red spandex.... No I’m serious. Her hair is half black and half blonde, too.... The other day she was walking down the hall with a red feathered boa wrapped around her neck.. .. Yeah, I see her every day sifting by herself in a corner all the time. . . . I guess you can’t blame her. What did happen to her when she was little?”

“Oooonnnncccceeee I was at hhhhoooommmmeeee, and I ssssaaaawwww...”

We despised the way her heart-shaped lips gawked open as she slurred her words. Mary Beth sounded like a lost, bleating lamb. She was the most entertaining character to imitate when my friends and I were at slumber parties. We all perfected the rhythmic pattern of her speech.

And then there was her appearance. Mary Beth’s gangly body towered over the other fourth graders, and her lemon-blonde hair rested on her shoulders in knotted clumps. Strands of hair constantly fell in front of her face, and she would constantly sculpt them behind her ear.

Every day she came dressed for school in brilliant colored leggings partially covered by a relaxed sweatshirt unevenly rolled at the sleeves. Her plump belly took shape under her shirts, creasing slightly, like a curtain conforming to its width. Her feet plowed into her white Keds and snuggled inside fluorescent socks scrunched at the ankle. Mary Beth’s Keds curved toward each other as she stepped, and it was evident she was pigeon-toed. (This was another characteristic we loved to imitate.) I saw her ferociously sprint during gym and on our Field Day. It was dreadful. Her leg stampeded into each other in an effort to run straight. Her arms flung back and forth anxiously like an ape’s, and I could see her tongue sticking out of her crooked mouth in determination. She was hopeless.

Autumn was approaching, and so was Mary Beth’s birthday party. Incredibly, all the girls invited, including me, showed up. We even brought presents, the ones our moms had carefully picked out in consideration. We were too reluctant and far too busy with our own lives to shop for a person we mocked. The arrival of girls seemed unrealistic until I discovered why they had come. It was a party, who wouldn’t show up?