I’m Done

My first memory is unpleasant because it involves my granny and nudity. My dad was the youngest of his family. I am the youngest of my family. That means I was doted on like few were. I was granny’s favorite. Some grandmothers get little white dogs and tote them around everywhere. My granny had me, and (at the time) I was little and white. I’m still white. 

She would take me to all sorts of places, but because she was retired and all of her friends were of a certain age, she mostly took me to funerals. If I ever smell flowers, I immediately think of funerals, me in a clip on tie, and my granny. 

Why did I spend so much time with her? My parents both worked and my brothers were both in school. I needed somewhere to go. Legend has it that I was put in daycare, but didn’t last. I was probably discharged for being too violent. Honestly, I was never violent. I was weepy. You could make me cry by looking at me. 

So I had to go somewhere. My granny took care of me every day before I was old enough for school. However, I was a jealous little bugger. I was jealous that my brothers were going to school, and I wasn’t. My granny was a lot like me. A problem solver. 

She bought or borrowed (maybe stole) a school desk. We had “granny school”. She would give me homework. One time in 2nd grade we were doing an assignment where we were supposed to collect leaves from a variety of trees. Child’s play. I was doing leaf books at 4 and a half. 

Back to my first memory. There I was standing with my undies around my ankles alone. I heard myself shout, “Granny, I’m done.” 

Thus begins my memory. I have always prided myself on having a better than average memory. It came in handy at school. My steel trap of a mind starts its illustrious journey by informing my grandmother of a successful poo.

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