The Years of Living Nakedly :: Personal Narrative Papers

The Years of Living NakedlyIts a big night for my parents. The friends deplete come over. The popcorn is popped and merelytered and salted. Lively conversation coasts from the living room and into the kitchen where Im planning my floor show. Why do old people lay about and gab and mash Monopoly when they could simply sit back and let me amuse them? Who assistances about who owns Marvin Gardens or who gets to be the Scotty Dog? Its Friday night, and all my parents can think to do is encounter their friends over to play out their real estate fantasies in a languid waltz of little green plastic houses. Perhaps Im just green-eyed because the Monopoly box is always cruelly out of my reach on the top shelf when I want to play -- as if I dont know plentiful not to swallow a game piece. At any rate, its time for variety. I strip down buck, saddle my wooden, wheeled, bright yellow Playschool giraffe and scoot into the living room. Adult heads turn and eyes squint as cheeks divide into smiles. I bear down hard as my wheels abruptly chance the green shag rug and strain to plow on through. This is the moment Ive been training for. If I dont make at least one complete turn around the coffee table the whole venture will have been wasted. However, before my round is even half way finished, its obvious that Ive reached my goal. I am the center of attention. Who needs board games and popcorn when youve got a naked kid and his wooden giraffe? My victory is short-lived, though. Amid chuckles and sniggers, Mom quickly scoops me up and Dad impounds my ride, but the damage has been done. After my little cabaret, Monopoly will pale in comparison. In short order I find myself doing time behind the netted walls of my play penitentiary, my senses still reeling from the heady intoxication of a job well done. Let Mom and Dad tromp back to their game. Once I bust out of the stir, no get-together in town will be safe from my naked abandon. Whatever happened to the carefree days whe n we were young and didnt care what other people thought of us? When I was a little kid I wore absurdly generic clothes, shed them whenever my parents had company, scratched myself whenever I had an itch, and generally worked all manner of tomfoolery without any care as to what others would think.