I am 11. I’m a contestant in a nationally televised French spelling bee. Along with my competitors, I am coaxed by a producer to run onto the stage shaking my hands over my head and yelling “Ouai!” A day earlier,
August 10 – Antonio Banderas gets a morbid curiousness
I am 10. It is the first day of summer vacation and I am riding my bike on a trail with my friends, on the way to a swimming hole we call Waterfalls. I lose my balance and fall into
August 9 – Anna Kendrick gets a burgeoning creative’s missteps
I am 9. Roald Dahl’s Danny, The Champion of the World is my favourite novel. My teacher connects me with someone at the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation who invites me onto her radio show to discuss the book. I arrive at
August 8 – Meagan Good gets a circuitous denigration
I am 8. Last night, when I was still 7, a new friend of mine came over to my house for a sleepover. He brought with him his collection of World Wrestling Federation VHS tapes to watch. After several hours,
August 7 – Charlize Theron gets a gelatinous ursine cosmic internal voyage
I am 7. My cousin who will later share my name comes running out of his bathroom. “There’s a gummy bear in my poo!” I’m giddy with excitement. Checking for myself is understood. I peer into the toilet and, sure
August 6 – M. Night Shyamalan gets a literary fall and its subsequent attention grab
I am 6. I am immersed in the reading of an Encyclopedia Brown story while simultaneously walking, at an unnecessary pace, around the raised wooden walls of my classroom’s sandbox. The child detective is about to solve a case by
August 5 – Patrick Ewing gets an impactful PSA and a salty snack
I am 5. I’m sitting on a waterbed in the basement of my aunt’s house, creating minor waves while watching a commercial on the TV in the bedroom. My cousin tells me it’s her favourite ad and gets excited when
August 4 – Barack Obama gets a stick-holding, candy-trading, bed-wrestling Hallowe’en
I am 4. It is Hallowe’en, and we are finished collecting treats from the nearby houses. I am running in the heart of my cul-de-sac, with six other children, many of whom share my last name, each of us holding
August 3 – Martha Stewart gets a neighbourly skirmish
I am 3. I am in front of my house, chasing my best friend and neighbour, who is the same person. We are at play, a child’s play, but something he does irritates me. I finally catch him, and instead
August 2 – Charli XCX gets a toddler’s secure playground
I am 2. I am alone in our backyard, only momentarily, as my father runs up the driveway to explain to a pair of tired adolescents that we do not need our lawn mowed. I pick up a handful of