Being 7

"Why in the hell didn't you turn that in?"
"I don't know."
"Is that the only excuse you have?"
"I guess."

WHAM!

The large hard backed book came smashing down on my head. I was new at this school thing and I had checked out a book at the school's library. I always liked to tell jokes and be the life of the party even at a young age. I picked out a HUGE book about jokes and forgot to return it back to the librarian.

Mom was pissed. . . really pissed.

The blow was so hard that it broke the binding of the book. I started sobbing.

"Maybe that will help you remember to turn it in tomorrow."
"But it's broken."
"Then you better come up with a good excuse. If you would've turned it in on time like you were supposed to, that wouldn't have happened."

She turned and walked down the hall. Halfway down, I was kneeling next to my toybox. I said quietly "You dummy." It sounded like a heard of cattle rampaging back to get me. Before I had a chance to completely turn around, the hand came out like a venomous viper and took what seemed to be the first two layers of skin off of my face. Between my head pounding, my eyes stinging with tears and the heat of the growing handprint on my face was almost unbearable.

Even to this day I can remember how my bedroom was set up, I remember what the book looked like before and after and I remember the glint in my mother's eye.