Q & A #26
by Colleen Hillerup
"Whoa. Do you ever look lame." Jackson stood at the edge of the Summer's front yard, commenting on Meredith's appearance.
The little girl smoothed down the ruffles on her skirt. "My daddy says I look pretty."
"What's with the curly hair, and the ribbons? You look like a, like a girl. Just a stupid girl."
Meredith frowned. "Not a stupid girl." She spoke up louder, as she lifted her head with defiance. "And my Mommy told me not to talk to you." She paused, considering the proper epithet. "Stupid boy."
"Yeah, brave girl, standing on your parent's porch. Come over here and say that." His smile was mean. "Chicken."
"I'm supposed to wait here. For Mommy."
"Oh, right. Hide behind your mama." He wiggled his hips, in a parody of what he considered femininity. "Meredith is a mama's girl. Meredith is a mama's girl."
"Am not." Meredith practically flew off the porch as she ran towards the trouble maker. Her patent leather shoes squished through the newly watered grass of the lawn. She grabbed Jackson and pushed him over, as they rolled in the grass and wet soil.
The boy was taken aback by the attack, but only for a moment. He was about to push the little girl's face into the dirt, when he looked up at the porch. Buffy Summers stood there, hands on her hips, face a mask of cold fury. He let go of the child and ran, as fast as he could.
"Meredith Anne Summers. You come here. Now."
The small child pulled herself up from the lawn and slunk back to the front door. "I'm sorry, Mommy."
"You should be." Buffy stared down at her daughter. "You knew I was taking you to Sears for your portrait. You knew I told you not to get messy. Now look at you. I leave you for one minute, and you get into a fight. I told you to stay away from Jackson. You're filthy. Now, come into the house and get cleaned up, and I'll find you another dress." She took the child's grubby little hand. "What was the fight about, anyway?"
"He said I was a mama's girl." Her lip quivered. "I'm sorry. I got mad." Tears filled her eyes. "I'm not a mama's girl, am I Mommy?"
"You're my girl, honey, but no, you're not a mama's girl." She walked her into the house, thinking, 'Definitely a daddy's girl.'
by Colleen Hillerup
"Whoa. Do you ever look lame." Jackson stood at the edge of the Summer's front yard, commenting on Meredith's appearance.
The little girl smoothed down the ruffles on her skirt. "My daddy says I look pretty."
"What's with the curly hair, and the ribbons? You look like a, like a girl. Just a stupid girl."
Meredith frowned. "Not a stupid girl." She spoke up louder, as she lifted her head with defiance. "And my Mommy told me not to talk to you." She paused, considering the proper epithet. "Stupid boy."
"Yeah, brave girl, standing on your parent's porch. Come over here and say that." His smile was mean. "Chicken."
"I'm supposed to wait here. For Mommy."
"Oh, right. Hide behind your mama." He wiggled his hips, in a parody of what he considered femininity. "Meredith is a mama's girl. Meredith is a mama's girl."
"Am not." Meredith practically flew off the porch as she ran towards the trouble maker. Her patent leather shoes squished through the newly watered grass of the lawn. She grabbed Jackson and pushed him over, as they rolled in the grass and wet soil.
The boy was taken aback by the attack, but only for a moment. He was about to push the little girl's face into the dirt, when he looked up at the porch. Buffy Summers stood there, hands on her hips, face a mask of cold fury. He let go of the child and ran, as fast as he could.
"Meredith Anne Summers. You come here. Now."
The small child pulled herself up from the lawn and slunk back to the front door. "I'm sorry, Mommy."
"You should be." Buffy stared down at her daughter. "You knew I was taking you to Sears for your portrait. You knew I told you not to get messy. Now look at you. I leave you for one minute, and you get into a fight. I told you to stay away from Jackson. You're filthy. Now, come into the house and get cleaned up, and I'll find you another dress." She took the child's grubby little hand. "What was the fight about, anyway?"
"He said I was a mama's girl." Her lip quivered. "I'm sorry. I got mad." Tears filled her eyes. "I'm not a mama's girl, am I Mommy?"
"You're my girl, honey, but no, you're not a mama's girl." She walked her into the house, thinking, 'Definitely a daddy's girl.'