Tomboy (standard:Editorials, 575 words) [1/2] show all parts
Author: MarieGranados	Updated: Aug 17 2006	Views/Reads: 3365/0	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Tomboy was written during the time I went through a depression. My therapist requested that I write about a time in my life that brought me happy thoughts. This is the (unfinished) product of that homework.

The years have long passed.  I no longer remember how old I was, only
that these were the years before grade 8, my tomboy years, the years 
before I wanted to be a girl, yet somehow that girl still managed to 
come through in all I did. 

We use to climb the trees in the park.  I remember we had our favourite,
the one we would go to everyday and spend hours in.  I would only climb 
so high, afraid that if I went up to far the branch would break and I 
would tumble down to the hard ground below.  It didn't matter to me so 
much though.  I was happy being there overlooking what seemed like the 
world below.  We could see the park, and overlook the fence, the 
townhouses across that we weren't suppose to go to, but we knew that 
when we were finished in our tree, that was the place we would head, as 
usual.  We would hop the fence, then climb the gate, and head to 
another one of our secret locations, the club hidden between the 
factories. We had our own table, our own white rabbit that would visit, 
and even our own roll of toilet paper.   Yes, we came prepared.  These 
were our hideaways, and no one bugged us here.  We could see no one and 
hear no one, and most importantly no one could see or hear us here.  
Our moms would call in the distance always, and we would always find 
ourselves in trouble when we got home for not telling them where we 
were going.  This was our spot though. 

Weekends my mom sent me to be with my grandma.  My grandfather had
passed before high school I believe.  After school I would travel the 
transit on my own, I learned at a young age when and where to get off, 
not by names of streets, but rather by surroundings and by landmarks.  
I knew that when I got on the bus, I would get off directly at the last 
stop, the train only went one way, so I knew to get off at the third 
stop, and I got off the streetcar at the pizza joint. 

My grandma was happy to see me every time, and always had our weekends
full.  Saturdays during the cooler months we went shopping at the mall, 
or on the Danforth. I'd sit on her lap as we traveled on the streetcar, 
grandma would always have candies in her purse.  Lunch on those days 
would always be McDonald's.  We'd go sledding on nicer winter days.  
Summer time we spent time at the park by the school, go to the wading 
pool, or walk down to the beaches.  Grandma would never go down the 
hill, would never walk in Lake Ontario, but she would always sit there 
and watch me, and we'd somehow have fun together all the same.  
Sunday's I dreaded with a passion.  We would get up early and grandma 
would adorn me in some tired, grandma looking dress and off to the 
Polish church we would go.  I hated going there.  Surrounded by the 
little Polish ladies, I understood not a word anyone said, and it was 
the most boring hour and a half I spent on those weekends.  The only 
thing worse would be when we would head downstairs to the hall after 
and spend time talking with the little old ladies. 

To be continued... 


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