The Secret Agents

Just like David Small or any other child, whether having a bad or good childhood had a creative imagination. David Small used his to escape his reality that he was disconsolate about. Mine on the other hand, wasn't bizzare but neither general.



A typical childhood day for me was playing with my cousins. Me and my cousin Jae, are a year and a half apart, so we grew up kind of close. Jae and I both grew up watching Forensic Files, First 48, ID, or just any other CSI shows. We were obsessed with homicide detectives and forensic pathologists. We were so interested in their gadgets.



Being the ages eight and nine didn't stop us from wanting to be secret agents. We literally would just gather old watches,sunglasses, pens, walkie-talkies, ear phones, old cell phones, empty perfume bottles, and anything else we thought would come in handy with our imaginable investigation. The funniest gadget I remember creating was sticking the paper towel's cylinder card board to the top of my power ranger gun acting like if it was my sniper.

Once we would gather everything in a pile, we would take turns choosing our gadgets one by one. Once we were done picking,we ould clip our walkie-talkie to our pants, put the pens and perfume bottle in our pocket, put the watch on along with the sunglasses and have our secret recording device taped to our stomach. Our guns in our hands aimed and ready to fire. The back yard that was grassy green and full of leaves was now a war where bombs were flying everywhere and you were fighting for your life.

 

At first we would calmly jump down from the helicopter (fence) and use our binoculars to find the hidden. If we couldn't find anything unusal we would use our sunglasses to zoom in, or spot the body heat.

We would throw the perfume bottles acting as if the were gernades, shooting blanks with our fake automatic and sniper guns, run and dodge fake bullets acting like maniacs. Once we would claim victory, we would get the invisible surrendersers and captain from the opposing side. We pretended to interrogate them leaving them with no choice but to tell us their top secret information (Which was what? I still don't know til this day). Once we recieved the non exsitent data, we would hand cuff them with twigs. We would run back into the house as if the house is our boss's office. We would remove our secret recorders from our tummys (which you should never put duct tape on your stomach) and hand them in.

After a long furious battle, we would pick up the empty perfume bottles. We than snuck into our mother's make up bag to kidnap their tweezers and make up brushes. Once we knew we were safe, we would go around the house picking strands of hair with the tweezers, placing them in the perfume bottles. We also would brush away finding fingerprints on glasses and take them back to our "lab".

My imagination shaped my life as far as not caring what other people did or thought, because others thought we were crazy for doing this. That being said, since I never cared what people thought, I still don't til this day.

The "BEADIFUL" Time



Usually a typical three year old girl would play with dolls, not hot wheels and action figures. I was not the sweet innocent adolescence that my smile portrayed to be. I wasn't violent, but aggressive still would be too excessive. I just loved to wrestle and play sports. My uncle would baby sit me while my mom would work or run errands. He was an ordinary eight-teen year old who loved to fight as well. He would always throw me around like if I was a rag doll. I didn't mind, I thought it was fun until he went too far to make me cry. He always told me i'm not suppose to cry, so I learned to accept pain and walk it off. He would hold me by my neck against the wall, feet dangling, and ask me what I would do if someone were to kidnap me like this. I would start punching and kicking as resentful as I could. When he would tell me I did well, I would feel so dignified after I caught my breath. As soon as my mom would close the door behind her, like any general common day that my uncle would watch me, meant ATTACK! This day was divergent compared to all those other times when he would throw me across the room. Consistently, I would usually land on the bed. Unfortunately, yet priceless, I landed flat on my face. The flavorless watered down blood streamed out of my nostrils, dripping on my mickey mouse blanket. I tried holding the tears back, but they came out just as fast as the blood did. My uncle carrying me with a paper towel in my nose calmed me down by finding one of the mardi gras beads on the floor. Once the blood stopped pouring out, he bribed me to stick it up my nose to make me laugh and say no. I thought it was hilarious and did it anyways. It was close to my mom coming home and we could still not get the bead out. It had been stuck and the more I stuck my finger up my nose to get it out, the farther it went up. Now was the time to panic for my uncle. My mom walked in only to hear her best news of the day. She freaked out insanely not knowing what to do. Instead of her rushing me to the hospital, she came up with a common sense idea that worked. She went to the kitchen to grab a rectangular container. She made me sniff a feather that had pepper all over it until I sneezed. As I Sneezed, I just saw that purple little bead shoot straight out to my feet. I laughed with relief and said (with a speech impediment) "Wound too".