Y’all should not be surprised to know what a prolific child I was. Unless you’re new to my blog and such, and in that case, Hi! And also I like comma’s and apostrophes and saying maybe and y’all and making up my very own words and saying “ever so” and using quotes in wrong places and ending sentences with prepositions and carrying on and on with the never ending sentences and the like. Hello!
Where were we? Prolificerism childus? Okey dokey.
What may surprise you is the fact that I was quiet. Oh yes. Mostly you just wouldn’t even know I was there because I was achingly silent, vastly skilled at entering and exiting rooms without making a sound and also rather tiny.
For some reason my dad took awhile to get used to this. Or maybe he just liked the routine of asking “Anyone know where Wendy is?” Because on most days I could be found in the closet of the closet. No really. We had a closet that had its own closet. Why does no one make those these days?
Anyways. I loved my closeted closet. I had one of those 70’s plastic tables in there…those ones where the plastic legs were removable and kinda square shaped. Also I had a reading light duct taped (I thought it was “duck tape” until I was in my 20’s) to the wall and a big ole macramé pencil holder chock full of pencils.
That room was my heaven. I would sit in there and write for hours and hours about mostly things that made no sense to the outside world but to my wonderfully fanciful childish mind it was pure novel material.
Just outside of the closeted closet was a painting on the wall that absolutely terrified me. Oh how I hated it. It was a portrait of Abraham Lincoln and he had these eyes that would follow you NO MATTER WHERE YOU WENT in the room. Getting to the coveted closeted closet required a mad dash through the room before one could dive into closet haven. HATE you Abe Lincoln! Hate you oh defender of freedom everywhere!
So I had to research him. Because this is how 6 year olds face their fears, right? Right. And so after hours in the library I did the closet dash and with sharp pencil and that 70’s paper that tore so easily I wrote the following historical paper. And so it is with great fanfare type introduction that I present to you:
“if i was Abraham Lincoln?” by WendyKay
if i was ABRAHAM Lincoln i would sure half to work hard. but i wish i was because it would be fun to be realy inportint. but i am already inportant in some ways. if i was ABRAHam Lincoln i would Promise to work my hardest. but i can already see that i am not ABRAHAM lincoln. and rite Now i’m working hard. but i already went to see the chair that he died in. And i saw were his funral was. and were he lived. but i don’t remember evry thing cause i was only three years old. and i think Abrawham was realy nice because he freed the slaves. and i think that was inportint because if he dident free the slaves for all i know they could be working rite now and that’s why i think that was inportint. yes in lots of ways Abraham lincold is inportent. The END.
Y’all can just see the fame around the corner can’t you?
And last night I longed for that closeted closet in the strongest of ways. And silent me wanted to race through a room to dive into it. And sleep eluded me the entire night. So I opened the photo/story chest and found this vastly important writing material for you. Oh the memories.
And thank God those poor slaves aren’t still working “rite now.”
THE END BY WENDYKAY