mortified.

There are moments from your childhood you never seem to forget. Those moments are clear as day. The first day of school, the first time you learned how to ride a bike, the first time you were teased.

I was four years old. Frizzy haired, donning a fluffy, flowery dress. My mother loved dressing me up like a doll. Pink bows in my hair and red reebok sneakers with the velcro straps. The reeboks were really my doing. They were my favorite. I had a pink purse I refused to part with. I was strange. Why? Well, I failed to disclose one small detail. I also wore a patch. Not the ones with the strap that pirates wore. That would be cool. I could pretend it was part of a year round costume of some sort. Arghhh. Admittedly, that would be strange, but not that strange, right? I would just be the kid who was obsessed with Halloween. It would be a phase most kids go through at that age. Slightly endearing don't you think? Unfortunately, my patch wasn't hip. Not even a little bit. It was an over sized beige band-aid that covered one eye. The right one. My frizzy hair went unnoticed. My older brother, who I idolized, would pick on me. Why? Because I didn't look like the other kids. I was different not to mention his annoying little sister.

One day, my mother took us to Thrifty now known as Rite Aid. She would often times take us there for their one scoop for one dollar deal. But before ice cream came the list of items she needed to purchase. There we were. My mother and two rowdy children on a mission. We arrived at the register. The lovely lady ringing us up smiled at me and started scanning. I wasn't sure if the smile was genuine or because she internally felt sorry for me. "That poor little girl with that patch. I feel sorry for her" was what she was probably thinking. At the register there was a clear little box with an opening for a donation as well as a picture of a little girl with big glasses and curly hair. Smiles galore. It was a charitable organization and she was clearly disabled. My brother looked at the cashier and pointed to the picture. "That's my sister," he said. I was mortified. I was embarrassed. I was scarred for life.