The Idea of an Essay, Volume 3

Narrative & Memoir 45 the post-dinner traditional four-square game. Everything Phil said was loud, and people who did not know him would think that he was angry. Phil was not angry, just annoyed. Phil was like those miniature dogs; he had a really big mouth, but he never owned up to what he said. I wanted to tell him that my head felt like it was spinning and that it was hard for me to stand without holding on to something, “I don’t feel well, I’m going inside.” I said sluggishly. Engaging in a verbal battle with Phil is like trying to nail jelly to a tree. I cannot remember who the best at four-square was, or who stayed in “king” position the longest, or the top-ten plays, but walking away feeling the ominous stare of rejection by my cousins and brothers will remain clear in my mind. There was truth in what the others were thinking, and that is what scared me the most. The door squeaked as I walked into the foyer of our house which was also the mudroom, and the hallway leading to the kitchen. It was a narrow hallway piled high with shoes of every size. The walls were decorated with ancient wallpaper that was curling at the edges, but thankfully coats were hung, covering the aged wall. The rough brick floor could be felt as I walked down the hallway towards the kitchen, these were the bricks that were responsible for the holes in my socks. As I walked into the kitchen, Mom was cleaning up after dinner, the smell of authentic Italian sauce permeated the room. I began to drag my feet and put my head down, waiting for Mom to notice me, “Honey, what’s wrong?” “I don’t feel well” I mumbled. I made it so that it was hardly audible, just enough for her to dote over me. She took me into the living room where Dad was watching the news. He didn’t really watch the news since most of the time he would be sleeping, but somehow he was always conscious enough to mute the advertisements. Mom set me up with ice cream and had me lay on the couch as she rubbed my head. What’s not to like about iron deficiency and allergies? Laying on the couch, watching the news with Dad, those words that my mom told me come back to my mind, “Our greatest weaknesses grow to become our greatest strengths.” Eating ice cream while getting a head rub by Mom is any kid’s dream, but as I lay on that couch, all I saw was moving pictures on a screen, and the only flavor I could taste was cold. I lay there facing an internal battle. I thought about the words Phil would say to me, and I knew that they were true. I must overcome the desire to quit, and give up not