Childhood Innocense...And Other Myths
If you're under the impression that little girls are all as innocent as they appear, you might want to consider the possibility that the "sugar and spice" myth was most likely conceived by someone who never conceived a daughter.
Since I was the third daughter to arrive on the scene, I quickly assessed the situation. Precedents had been set, and being the baby of the family it became my roll to break them.
My grand larceny phase hit when I was three. The boy next door always left his silver tricycle on his front porch. So, I would rise early and wait with his trike at the top of the hill. When he attempted to climb the hill to retrieve it, I would chase him down the hill with it singing the theme from Dragnet (as I recall the words were dump ta duuu...dump ta dump ta duuu...)
My father tried to entice me away from this life of crime by buying me a new tricycle for my 4th birthday. It was large and blue and looked like the one that "Little Joy" chased Shirley Temple with on "Bright Eyes." Didn't take. I continued to terrorize that poor little boy with his own trike until my parents were forced to move from the state...at least that was what I was told at the time. Actually my Dad was transferred.
I eventually grew out of that phase and moved on to substance abuse. Our favorite treat was licorice root. They looked just like sticks and my sisters and I would go throughout the neighborhood amazing our friends by chewing on kindling. However, licorice root was rare and costly. No matter where our father hid the box, we would always sniff it out. Eventually he placed it in full view in the outside shed and pointed out the family of black widow spiders he had hired to guard it. Quitting licorice root cold turkey was no picnic I can tell you!
Now you can't possibly have a house full of girls without arguments breaking the monotony on occasion. Though our mother was very good at sorting things out and dispensing the proper punishment to the instigator, she sometimes got it wrong...thus prompting my first runaway attempt. I dutifully packed my little doll suitcase with clean underwear and socks, grabbed my pillow and headed out for parts unknown. I got as far as the curb outside our house and remembered that it was Sunday and perhaps running away from home would be considered breaking the Sabbath.
Our father in an attempt to impress upon us the virtue of saving money, bought each of us a little metal bank. We were to fill our banks with the coins from our allowance at which time Daddy would take us to the bank to open a real savings account. Well, I'm sorry but the call of all that loot got the best of me. I hid in my closet one night and maneuvered the coins out of the bank and hid them in my coat pocket. The next day my mother, who was suspicious of the way my coat was hanging, appeared at the little market across from the school just in time to catch me feverishly buying office supplies. OK, larceny was out now too.
I eventually gave up the life of crime and concentrated on teasing and humiliating my younger sisters. Hey. Everyone needs a hobby right?
If you're under the impression that little girls are all as innocent as they appear, you might want to consider the possibility that the "sugar and spice" myth was most likely conceived by someone who never conceived a daughter.
Since I was the third daughter to arrive on the scene, I quickly assessed the situation. Precedents had been set, and being the baby of the family it became my roll to break them.
My grand larceny phase hit when I was three. The boy next door always left his silver tricycle on his front porch. So, I would rise early and wait with his trike at the top of the hill. When he attempted to climb the hill to retrieve it, I would chase him down the hill with it singing the theme from Dragnet (as I recall the words were dump ta duuu...dump ta dump ta duuu...)
My father tried to entice me away from this life of crime by buying me a new tricycle for my 4th birthday. It was large and blue and looked like the one that "Little Joy" chased Shirley Temple with on "Bright Eyes." Didn't take. I continued to terrorize that poor little boy with his own trike until my parents were forced to move from the state...at least that was what I was told at the time. Actually my Dad was transferred.
I eventually grew out of that phase and moved on to substance abuse. Our favorite treat was licorice root. They looked just like sticks and my sisters and I would go throughout the neighborhood amazing our friends by chewing on kindling. However, licorice root was rare and costly. No matter where our father hid the box, we would always sniff it out. Eventually he placed it in full view in the outside shed and pointed out the family of black widow spiders he had hired to guard it. Quitting licorice root cold turkey was no picnic I can tell you!
Now you can't possibly have a house full of girls without arguments breaking the monotony on occasion. Though our mother was very good at sorting things out and dispensing the proper punishment to the instigator, she sometimes got it wrong...thus prompting my first runaway attempt. I dutifully packed my little doll suitcase with clean underwear and socks, grabbed my pillow and headed out for parts unknown. I got as far as the curb outside our house and remembered that it was Sunday and perhaps running away from home would be considered breaking the Sabbath.
Our father in an attempt to impress upon us the virtue of saving money, bought each of us a little metal bank. We were to fill our banks with the coins from our allowance at which time Daddy would take us to the bank to open a real savings account. Well, I'm sorry but the call of all that loot got the best of me. I hid in my closet one night and maneuvered the coins out of the bank and hid them in my coat pocket. The next day my mother, who was suspicious of the way my coat was hanging, appeared at the little market across from the school just in time to catch me feverishly buying office supplies. OK, larceny was out now too.
I eventually gave up the life of crime and concentrated on teasing and humiliating my younger sisters. Hey. Everyone needs a hobby right?
Cindy Jaynes is a freelance writer and grandmother of twelve. To
learn more about Cindy and how she earns a fulltime living online, visit
her website at [http://www.easyks.com]
