When I was 2, I said my first word. Share. Well, actually it came out more like Sheer, but my family got the gist of what I was saying. I said it when my elders were fighting about the last muffin we got from Dunkin Donuts; after 10 minutes of, âI BOUGHT IT JOHN! ITâS MINE!â and âMARGARET, ITâS MINE!â my mom suggested that they compromise and share it. Thatâs when I opened my big mouth and agreed, (somewhat). Little did I know, the word Share was going to haunt my life, literally, and figuratively.
When I was 5, I could start learning how to ride a bike. It was February, and no one really wanted to help teach me because of the weather. I didnât let this lack of enthusiasm from my family affect my determination. I went out, bundled up from head to toe in the warmest clothes I could find, got on the bike without trainer wheels, (my family were and still are in a very bad financial state, they couldnât afford to buy a âbeginnersâ bike. They found mine in the ditch a few yards from our house) and I tried, consistently, to ride it. There were too many abrasions located on my legs to count; all I know is that I fell. A lot.
When I was 8, I got up one morning to ride the bike, and I noticed it had a crash-landing and almost all parts of the bike were damaged. I later found out that my younger brother tried lying down on it while it was moving. Now we had no bike.
When I was 12, I was very emulative and I was trying to be cool just like my older brother. I wasnât exactly a replica of the 19-year-old high school drop out, but I did resemble him a bit. It drove my parents crazy.
When I was 16, I was a despondent and shy kid who put everyone above me. Everyone was stepping over me, and I didnât do a thing to stop it. I shared almost everything I had: my clothes, my toothbrush and comb, my food, etc. I also had to disposition all my plans if Margaret had a date and wanted to use the mini-van, or Devon wanted to go the Chucky Cheeses and I had to drive him.
And now that Iâm 18, Iâm still sharing every single piece of merchandise I have with my family of 6.
Woe is me would be the correct term in this bizarre recollection of my life.
