was going to pee on myself. This was due to a combination of my excitement and the fact that the box was pretty heavy, so as I was struggling to hold it up, it was leaning on my bladder. I watched as my mother walked right past me with that same smile and said “Oh! That’s nice… maybe for Christmas.” My heart dropped as if she had actually said no. “‘No’? What does she mean ‘no’?” Perhaps she did not fully understand the situation. I brushed off the first “no” and proceeded to follow her with the box grasped as tightly in my little hands as possible. “But Maaaaa, why can’t I have it nowwwwah?” I whined with my lip poked out. “Because I said so Adora. Now put it back and let’s go.” Yes, I could have just put the box down right then and pouted my way to the register, but something in me clicked. My common sense seemed to be masked by the brat in me. With all the planning I did, I wasn’t leaving without that oven. “Pleeeeaaaseee?” I pleaded. “I said no! Now come on, and fix your face!” I knew she meant business because her lip curled up and her eyebrows did the scrunching thing, but I wasn’t leaving without a fight. I came to get that oven and that is just what I was leaving with. I dropped to the ground, kicked my legs, and let out a bloodcurdling screech. “I WANT IT NOW! NOW NOW NOW NOW!” I repeated. My mother, now embarrassed because the entire store was looking at me, gazed down with her evil eye and said, “Adora Tiffany Ewuzie, if you don’t get your behind up right now, you’re going to get a good beating.” Not only
was I not satisfied, I didn’t believe that she would beat me in front of all of these people. So I decided to call her bluff and I continued to show out, this time ten times as loud. “NOW, I WANT IT NOW!!” My mother snatched me up before I could get my next breath in. She raised her hand and, with the speed of lightning, struck my backside over and over again. The look on my face was priceless. It was like she called on the strength of her ancestors to aid in punishing me for being such a rotten child. I wanted so desperately for one of the bystanders to intervene and stop my mom from hitting me. I cried and pleaded, apologizing and begging for her to stop. She whooped me up and down three aisles; no matter what I did I couldn’t get away. Finally, an older Caucasian woman—who I’d like to call my guardian angel—stepped in and said “Hey! Stop! You can’t beat her like that. It’s child abuse.” Appalled by the comment, my mom turned around and looked the lady in the eye and growled, “Do you want some too? If not, I suggest you mind your business, lady.” I believe she scared the lady away, but I didn’t even care because her attention was off of me. She grabbed me by the arm, dragged me to the front of the store and said, “Now sit down, and you better not move unless I say so!” I dared not test her, so I sat there quietly rubbing my eyes. The only thing that felt worse than my stinging body was the embarrassment that came with the stares and whispers I got from the other customers. My plan had failed miserably. I was sore and embarrassed, and was leaving the Bro ken I nk 2 014
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