I do everything that you ask me to and still you tell me it’s not correct. You are always telling me how to wash clothes, how to behave and how to present myself. I sometimes feel like you think I don’t know the importance of having clean and tidy clothes. You are always worrying; everything has to be done your way. I am never allowed to play and have fun; I always have to worry about household work. Questions race through my little mind, why does she keep referring to me as a slut? What have I done this time to deserve her horrible and demoralizing remarks? How many times will I have to tell you that I am innocent and have no intent to do anything bad? How will eating fruits outside make flies follow me? Where do you get your facts from? They do not even make sense. These restrictions are suffocating and overbearing for me.

There we go again with you telling me what not to do, but I honestly just want to play with marbles and pick people’s flowers! However, to be honest I do enjoy you teaching me to cook. At least I will be able to make your secret recipes for myself. I guess I can also learn how to make effective medicine for a cold but what do you mean by “good medicine to throw away a child before it even becomes a child”(Kincaid, 2)? Sometimes I don’t understand what it is you ramble on and on about. Oh no, you have brought up the topic of the baker. You are obviously going to have something to say about that. I know you love me deep down and are preparing me for the future but I would love to be a child before the real world becomes a reality.