Looking back I think I was quite an ordinary but very different kid. I personally think if someone says I was stupid and silly I’d look aside and smile because there is some truth to that, though my dear dad would hear none of that because he thinks I was quite special not stupid, and nothing has changed am still special to him just in a different way; the same old song in a digital tune, the change may be as a result of growing up and finally obtaining the common sense which was not common to me way back in my childhood or perhaps it may be the increase of the size of my brain from the little chicken brain I had then to this genius brain I have now (I wish!!)
I was a little enchanting and bubbly angel but quite enigmatic like I will show you as you read on my hair was so healthy,dark and quite long for my age but all that was hidden by my skinny body,most of the times I’d get comments like “you have very lovely hair it sure is consuming all you eat because it’s quite healthier than your body” but my favourite memories of my skinny figure were from my dear dad, not once, not twice he would make a comment about my skinny-self and I vividly remember this day as we stood waiting for cars to pass so that we cross the road dad said “mum weka mawe kwa mfuko, hii lorry inapita isipite nawewe” (Dear,put some stones in your pocket so that this passing lorry does not blow you off your feet) that was how skinny I was!! But just so you know am no longer that skinny,and so I’ll let that be the story of another day.
And so I now embark at the main story not because its more important but because I think its more interesting and in a way dimly reflects the ‘me’ I am today.
I remember so clearly it was on a Tuesday, the sun was dancing on the sky, showing just how radiant it could be,with no competition I wondered why it had to glow that radiantly, but I now get its message “I can do extremely well if I let me be my competitor”. I was barely seven in age, it was the school’s closing day and as routine
dictated we would carry our snacks, wash the class (the only day we would get such a privileges) then we would sit on the floor mix our snacks and enjoy eating away all the sad memories of the term using stories, mchongowano’s (jokes as we used to call them back then) and of course imitation time which was my best because I was such a pro in imitating our class teacher Mrs. Wafula who had such a ‘swargarific’ accent.
Being the youngest in the class I was the one fascinated most with washing the class and so I had successfully succeeded in my duster search, though it was so small but it would wash quite well since my hands were small too
but my dear best friend Nyaguthîì had none,mine being so small it was impossible to cut it, and so just what did Sharon do?? Hehe.. I took my sweater and skilfully using my razor(carried to sharpen my pencil) I cut the sleeve that it became one handed, I handed the sleeve to Nyaguthîí to use it as a duster to mop the class, we enjoyed washing the class together and it was made memorable by the sliding of our prefect mercy who fell thunderously while trying to skate on the soapy floor.
Nyaguthîí did not know where I got the duster from not until home time when i wore my one-sleeved sweater
she was so surprised when I explained what I had done to my sweater with a smile jogging around my face,and instead of giving me aloud applause she looked at me with those big disappointed eyes that the smile on my face turned into a real frawn. That was when I realised just how my generosity was quite foolishly oriented.and thoughts of what I would tell my parents criss-crossing my vacant mind while ideas bombarding that of Nyaguthîí, and finally the most suitable answer was “I did not even remove my sweater, I don’t know where the sleeve went to” that way no one of us could take the blame.could mum believe this?could dad take such a lie considering how he hated lies??find out more on my next post ………………………………………………………..”The Grace bestowed on parents”