Chapter 21: Sadina
When I was four years old, Mom says I had three favorite words: “I do it.”
I wanted to tie my shoes and comb my own hair. I wanted to pour the milk into my cereal bowl and buckle myself into the car seat. Mom says it didn’t stop there. When she was working at her computer, I would try to push her aside and take over the typing. When Dad was frying an egg, I’d grab for the spatula. They never say so, but it sounds like I must have been a total pain.
I remember it, sort of. I remember feeling like I had to try out everything and see if I could do it myself. Although my four-year-old brain didn’t know how to put it into words, I think I just wanted to be ready—ready to fry my own egg and type my own emails in case some sort of disaster hit my world and left me all on my own.
As I get off the school bus, I’m thinking that all the skills I’ve learned since I was four years old should come in handy now, because my world is definitely collapsing and it feels like there’s no one to deal with it but me.