Vocabulary
The Ball And The Doll
By Aqueline Seig
I try to speak to my mom every day. I love to hear her voice. I have been in this country nearly a year, and
my whole family is in Brazil. I do not want to talk any more about my mom's voice; the reason I am writing is
to tell you a story.
When I called my mom's house yesterday, my older brother picked up the phone. He was visiting her. It
was so amazing to catch up with him; we had a laugh. I asked him about soccer. I mentioned that on
purpose because I know now he is a member of a religion that does not allow such mundane things.
I said to him, “Remember? We were the best!!!”
Many, many years ago, on December 26, we finished lunch. I was about 7; and he, 9. My big brother
was like a mentor for me, my idol. We were very happy with our Christmas presents, but we had already
figured out that Dad had bought them for us, not Santa Claus. Dad was quite a character; I always will miss
him. Dad had to go to work; at this time, he was serving in the Navy. My mom was in the living room
correcting exams; she was a teacher. I always remember her preparing classes, doing corrections. We
did not see my parents much. They worked hard to give us a good education. Dad used to say: Learning is
a man's only legacy!
The thing that really mattered to me was our vacation, and we had a big plan that always got us into
trouble -- playing soccer. Anywhere, inside the house, on the street, in the neighbor's gardens, in school.
We could play soccer all day long. My brother was amazed he had gotten (of course it was a he, a boy) a
nice good soccer ball, and I unfortunately (or maybe not) got a doll, about my size. I was sever years old,
but I looked five, since I have always been “pettit.” That doll could kiss and make a noise like
“Smachhhhhhhk,” the sound of a loud kiss. Whatever, I was not very interested in it. I just wanted to play
soccer with my brother, and his friend, Yvo, with by brother's new soccer ball.
After 20 minutes of playing, the ball hit a nail in the fence of our backyard. The nice ball started to deflate.
We could not believe it; it was a horror story. Seriously, that ball was pretty new.
We were upset; I could not see my brother like that. We sat around the ball, being very thoughtful.
Yvo had an idea: at first, I was concerned that we might get in trouble with Dad. But we were pretty much
ready to take the risk. The idea was to take the doll head off. I agreed, but I just allowed that after we gave
to the doll a very nice and decent funeral service in tribute to her beauty. So, we did, took the head off, cut
the hair, and enjoyed ourselves. After many hours playing and have fun, we had the service I cried a bit;
they didn't. When my parents got home from work as you already are guessing we were in a big trouble.
We had to dig the doll up. My dad put some strong glue on the neck of the doll to try to see if it will work
again, but it was too late. The doll became something very ugly and did not have any movements anymore.
I was grounded, at home, for one month. I was not allowed to play with my friends, and my brother's
punishment was for six months, without even touching a ball. It was unfair punishment.
32
In Our Own Words 2016