Bee Sting
When I lived in Toisan a bee flew through my window. I was three years old. I touched the bee softly and it stung my finger. After the bee stung me, it died. My dad removed the stinger from my skin and gave me the bee. I smashed it and it looked like mush. My mom gave me a bandage. She said, “Does it hurt?” It didn’t hurt. This memory smells like cigarette smoke because my dad was smoking that day.
Preschool in China
When I was three I went to preschool. One day after lunch my teacher took us for a walk inside the school. The walls were painted the color of tan horses. The school smelled like floor cleaner. My mother brought me a blanket. I saw her in the hall and ran toward her. I held onto my mother. My teacher said, “Let go of your mother.” I cried. Two teachers pulled me off of my mother because they didn’t want my mom to pick me up. Then I stopped crying. The school was strict about parents visiting their children. They wanted the kids to become more independent.
Packing for America
When I packed to move to America I brought these things with me: my blanket, my pillow, clothes, family pictures and one toy. Everything smelled like the soap my mom washed my clothes in because I packed it all together. I chose my pillow because it has the words Good Friend and Mickey Mouse on it. My blanket has a flower on it and I’ve had it since I was little. I brought clothes for cold weather because I knew about the cold fog in San Francisco. I chose my teddy bear because it’s my favorite. My mom said only one toy because we were already bringing too much stuff.
About the Author
My name is Vicky. I am eight years old and I am shy. I live with my parents in San Francisco. I like doing math and I am good at drawing. When I grow up I want to be a teacher. If I were a plant I would be a tree because trees give us fresh air. I hope my sister will be smart when she is born. Right now she is still inside my mom.
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