I Was Six Years Old

By Beatrice Dratt

I stood in the corridor of PS 188 and we, my mother and I, walked through an old brown wooden door. My mother held my hand until we came to an old room. My mother took me to the second seat in the row.

My mother told me to sit down and I looked around the room. I noticed a girl of my years with long golden curls, a little nose, and more important, a beautiful dress, white and red material, and ruffles all over.

My mother left my side and I remembered feeling frightened instead of excited, as my mother had promised me. The teacher came in the room and I noticed her staring at the girl with golden curls.

I was so young, wearing an old brown dress, worn shoes, dark brown, thin hair.

I closed my eyes again and pictured my mother neatly but plainly dressed, glasses made a ridge in her nose and her hands were rough from washing clothes on a wash board. With my eyes still closed, I prayed that the day at PS 188 would end at that moment.

About the Author: Beatrice Dratt has lived in Riverdale, N.Y. for 36 years. She worked as the administrative assistant to the vice president of nursing at Mt. Sinai Hospital. She has three children, three grandchildren, and three great- grandchildren.