Hey World, Here I Am! I said to the World, "I've arrived. I, Kate Bloomfield, have come at last." The World paid no attention. I said to the World, "Hey World, here I am! Don't you understand? It's me, Kate Bloomfield." The World ignored me. I took myself into a corner. "Guess what?" I whispered. "I made it. You know ... Kate Bloomfield." My Self bellowed, "YeaaaAAY, Kate!" And spun six somersaults up the middle of Main Street. The World turned. "What did you say?" said the World. I paid no attention. After all, I gave it its chance. It's not my fault that it missed me. About Loving In my family, we don't talk much about loving. My mother never bakes us pies or knits us socks. More than once, she's put cream in my father's coffee, although he takes it black. When she gets home from work, she collapses, with her feet up. I have to shake her awake when it's time to eat. My father never sends her roses or Valentines. He just says to her, "April, listen to this. April!" The she yawns and opens half an eye and listens, while he reads her something by E.B. White or Tolstoy. I listen, too. And they listen when I find something so perfect it must be shared. Nobody ever says, "Not now, I'm busy." But nobody asks me about my homework either. And I do not wait to be told it's time for bed. If I want to floss my teeth, that's my affair. They couldn't care less. I used to think they didn't know I was there. If I disappeared, I thought, they'd never notice. But I was wrong. My father looks up, all at once, and asks me, "Katherine, tell me, what is truth?" And he doesn't go back to his book till he's heard my answer. My mother does leave me to get the supper ready. But she brings me home ten brand-new drawing pencils. Someday I'll send my mother one-dozen roses. Someday I'll knit my father a pair of socks. When I have children I'll tell them, "It's time for bed." But I'll also ask them sometimes, "What is truth?" And I'll leave them to get the supper and bring them pencils. Loving isn't as simple as I once thought. Talking about it isn't what matters most. Today Today I will not live up to my potential. Today I will not relate well to my peer group. Today I will not contribute in class. I will not volunteer one thing. Today I will not strive to do better. Today I will not achieve or adjust or grow enriched or get involved. I will not put up my hand even if the teacher is wrong and I can prove it. Today I might eat the eraser off my pencil. l'll look at clouds. l'll be late. I don't think I'll wash. I need a rest. Parsnips When I'm home, parsnips make me gag. I cannot swallow them. When I'm out I behave like a lady and, somehow, they go down. Mother says I could eat them at home, if I tried. She's wrong. Growing Pains Mother got mad at me tonight and bawled me out. She said I was lazy and self-centered. She said my room was a pigsty. She said she was sick and tired of forever nagging but I gave her no choice. She went on and on until I began to cry. I hate crying in front of people. It was horrible. I got away, though, and went to bed and it was over. I knew things would be okay in the morning; Stiff with being sorry, too polite, but okay. I was glad to be by myself. Then she came to my room and apologized. She explained, too. Things had gone wrong all day at the store. She hadn't had a letter from my sister and she was worried. Dad had also done something to hurt her. She even told me about that. Then _she_ cried. I kept saying, "It's all right, don't worry." And wishing she'd stop. I'm just a kid. I can forgive her getting mad at me. That's easy. But her sadness . . . I don't know what to do with her sadness. I yell at her often, "You don't understand me!" But I don't want to have to understand her. That's expecting too much. Wars When I was in Grade Two, I said to my father, "I think wars are wrong! People should be told to stop all this fighting right now. If I were crowned Queen of the World I'd make wars againt the law." My father said I had something there, But he didn't seem terribly excited. I could not understand him. Then I went upstairs and caught my sister Marilyn Playing with my new paper dolls without my permission! We had a war. So I'm Proud Our History teacher says, "Be proud you're Canadians." My father says, "You can be proud you're Jewish." My mother says, "Stand up straight, Kate Be proud you're tall." But what I want to know is, When did I have the chance to be Nowegian or Buddhist or short? Cartwheels I can't turn cartwheels. I've tried and tried. I can start. I can get about halfway . . . Then I buckle over somehow and collapse sideways. I told Mother. "Practice," she advised. I said I had. It didn't work. I just plain couldn't do them. "Well, you can write poems," she said, "And you're so good at Math . . . " She went on and on and it was all very nice. I appreciated it. I still can't turn cartwheels. After English Class I used to like "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening." I liked the coming darkness, The jingle of harness bells, breaking -- and adding to -- the stillness. The gentle drift of snow . . . . But today, the teacher told us what everything stood for. The woods, the horse, the miles to go, the sleep -- They all have "hidden meanings." It's grown so complicated now that, Next time I drive by, I don't think I'll bother to stop. Surprise I feel like the ground in winter, Hard, cold, dark, dead, unyielding. The hope pokes through me Like a crocus. When Someone I Love Is Hurt When someone I love is hurt, I never know what to say. I scowl and growl. I slam doors. I shut myself up in my room and put KEEP OUT on the door. I glare at people who say things like "You certainly got out of bed on the wrong side this morning!" I can't even run away into my favorite books. The hurting follows me there and won't let me stay. I just lie on my bed and concentrate on not crying. I am not one tiny bit helpful. I act dumb with everybody, Even people who are completely outside it all, Like the paper boy or Emily's aunt. Even when I know I'm being stupid and only making things worse, I can't help it. But, all the time, I'm hurting too. I yearn, with evey atom of me, to make things right for the person I love. It would be better to be comforting, To be cheery, to make little jokes, Or even just to say how sorry I am. I can't. Hardly ever. I just ache and ache and ache. I Told You So My mother never says, "I told you so." She doesn't believe in it. She calls it "rubbing salt in the wound." But sometimes, her silences are so loud That we wish she'd give in, for once, And get it off our minds.