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A Piece of My Mind
April 10, 2002


Author Affiliations

A Piece of My Mind Section Editor: Roxanne K. Young, Associate Editor.

JAMA. 2002;287(14):1773-1774. doi:10.1001/jama.287.14.1773

It is an orange October afternoon and I am wearing my new corduroy pants. I hop off the school bus, weary after another trying day of third grade. The shiny red door of our house beckons me. Come in, eat cookies, here it is safe. The housekeeper opens up, and my sister and I rush in. We heave our backpacks into a corner and make a beeline for the kitchen. After our snack, sweatshirts comfortably sprinkled with crumbs, we scamper upstairs, hands and feet grasping at the runner so as to propel ourselves upward even faster. We would take off like little helicopters if we could. We are headed to the playroom, where our growing collection of Barbie dolls awaits us. As we walk along I listen to the sound of my corduroy pants. Swip, swop, swip, swop. It is a good sound. In fact, it is so interesting that I decide to walk back and forth across the hall a few more times, just to hear it. Swip, swop, swip, swop. Amy is standing by the door to the playroom. "Come on, it's time for the wedding!" she urges. It's always time for the wedding. More than anything else, our Barbies like to get married. That and have car crashes. Then we can play hospital, and everyone gets better, except for the one whose leg fell off, but Daddy can fix her in a pinch. He is a doctor so he can fix anybody. Swip, swop, swip, swop. I've decided to stop pacing and join my sister in the playroom. I can listen to my pants later. We fling ourselves down on the linoleum floor, strewn with dolls and doll clothes, and lose ourselves in the bright realm of our imagination.

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