Baby Hand

12 03 2008

Yet another childhood tale of mine. I nicknamed all the kids I hung around, and this nickname is exactly what you think.

When I was 5 years old, we moved from one section of the neighborhood to the other section. This neighborhood was so new, there was no grass in the backyard and no fences between anyone. Around the block (or diagonally through the back yards) lived a girl that I will call M. I was friends with M only because her mother took care of me sometimes. I hated M. I hated M so much that I used to cry before going to her house. Not only was M mean, but M’s mother was mean.

Also, and this is not why I hated M but it didn’t help me liking her, M had a baby hand. Let me explain this. One hand was the perfectly normal hand of a 5 year old girl, the other was the size and shape of an infant’s. With sharp little baby nails. That she painted. I tried to avoid the baby hand because M knew that her little baby nails were sharp and was quick to inflict pain with them. When about to cross the street and forced to hold hands, I would get on the side of the good hand. M would stop, walk around me, and force me to hold the baby hand.

M also did weird things like walk across the backyards with a napkin in her baby hand. Inside the napkin were her meatballs from her bowl of ABC’s and 123’s. She would knock at my back door until someone answered it and then thrust her meatball-filled baby hand at them and demand that I eat the contents.

I hated that baby hand. I hated that I was forced to touch it. I hated that when her mother was taking care of me they seemed to be very mean. M’s mother made a huge bowl of sugared strawberries one day. She looked me dead in the eye and said “You can’t have any of this. It’s only for M and me.” Then they proceeded to eat the strawberries in front of me. M’s mother also made me clean M’s room, even though I never played with anything. It was very irritating. I felt like my mother was paying this woman for me to be a maid. I tried to tell my mother this and she sympathized, but there wasn’t anywhere else for me to go at the time.

Now, of course my friends have heard about baby hand many times. Heather and Courtney, because they’re extremely evil, took it to a new level. One Christmas we all decorated and personalized stockings to hang. The two of them went to a craft store, bought a babydoll hand, painted the fingernails, and attached it to my stocking. Then waited for me to notice and scream. EVIL, I tell you. The hand is still on my stocking because it represents one of the first times Heather and Courtney collaborated on a project and I’ve become fond of it.




Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: