Hot Pink Sweats
Isabel, Age 12, Atwater, CA

“Mrs. Garcia, can I go to the bathroom?” I asked my kindergarten teacher. “Yes you may…on your own time at recess.” I began to beg and plead. I might as well have gotten on my knees as if I was bowing to a king. She just kept on bobbing head in a way that said “No.” I kept squirming in my faded yellow-colored seat like a puny bug trying to escape from underneath some bully’s shoe.

Eventually she was fed up with me asking her. She took off her happy-clown-face and slipped on her angry face. She moved a clothespin to the purple string. I had nothing to worry about because the purple string wasn’t nearly as terrible as the black string. The black string meant you had to call home. Back then that was a really big deal. Because I was such a good student, just getting my clip moved once was practically the end of the world. All it meant was that this was my first warning. While I sat in my chair uncontrollably balling like an infant baby, it passed my mind that I still had to go to the restroom. And when I finally stopped crying I glanced down at pants a saw the huge wet spot. Just when I got up to go tell Mrs. Garcia, she told me to go to the nearest bathroom if I still had to go. But I didn’t so she called the office and I was rushed at ambulance speed to the office so that I could phone my mother.

As I hurried out of the classroom, my face turned a bright-cherry-red color. My head felt like a volcano ready to explode with hot lava. The older woman at the desk handed me the receiver as she punched in the seven-digit number. My mom answered the phone so calmly that I almost forgot the reason I was calling in the first place. When I hung up the phone I told the lady, “My mommy says she is on her way.” The lady grinned a joyful smile.

Within ten minutes time my mother arrived. I was relieved but at the same time disgusted. I was excited to see my mom but disgusted to see the dreadful thing in her hands. It was my bright pink sweat pants. I hated those pants. I absolutely hated them. That is why they were placed at the very bottom dungeon portion of my drawer. I didn’t want to look at them. I glared at my mom with my oh-you-shouldn’t-have sarcastic look. She figured since the cold weather was beginning to kick in that it was best for me to be warm in hot pink sweats.

After walking around all day hearing, “Nice pants.” or “Wish I had a pair of those” followed by giggles, I knew that I had to get over this. The next kid that walked by said to me ironically, “Love the pink pants.” I just replied with a simple “I know aren’t they just they the latest fashion?” This is a day in my life that I will never forget because had everyone laughing with me and not at me.

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