National Day on Writing Essay
The Consequences of an Oreo
It is a warm summer day, and my mom has left the front door of my house propped
wide open so as to let the gentle, tickling breeze into the house. My best friend Sarah and I
are inside the house, in the front entryway. Two girls of fourteen, freshmen in high school:
I am short and thin with long, unkempt red hair, and Sarah is tall and thin with sparkling
blue eyes and hair that has at that age already been dyed too many times.
We are waiting for my mom to finish making supper, as she so often does this
summer for not only the family but also for any friends who happen to be in the vicinity of
our house.
We are in the process of taking off our shoes; we are lingering in the entryway,
excitedly chatting about all those things that teenage girls like to talk about, when we hear
the voice of my youngest brother, Jackson, coming from outside the front door.
Now, you have to understand a few personality traits of Jackson before you can fully
appreciate the events that follow. My aunts and uncles on my dad’s side always joke that
their side of the family has two flaws: stubbornness and short-tempered-ness. My other
brother, Luke, has a full dose of the short-tempered gene – he can fly into a rage faster than
I can lace my beat-up Chuck Taylors, which is to say, pretty fast. However, Luke will calm
down just as easily; his temper tantrums rarely last more than a few minutes before he
realizes his stupidity and apologizes.
Jackson, on the other hand, is fully charged with both family flaws. The tiniest
inconvenience will send him into a raging temper, and he does not calm down for anything.
The stubbornness in him makes him feel that he always has to be right, and he will go to
any lengths to convince anyone – usually my parents – that he is right. Needless to say, his
temper tantrums are the worst I have experienced from any kid, ever. And I’ve babysat
quite a few kids in my time.
Yet, it’s still important to remember that Jackson is only four years old and also the
cutest boy you can imagine. He has light-brown hair that falls in a perfect sheet over his
tiny forehead, and he possesses a level of unending energy that could only be matched by
another four-year-old.
The feature about Jackson that stands out the most is his eyes. Huge, perfectly
round, and electrically blue, those eyes melt countless hearts whenever he asks for
something. Really, you just can’t say no to the kid; he’s too darn adorable. I mean, when
he’s in a good mood. When he is in a good mood, he is sweet and kind and just all-around
adorable and loveable. Being the proud big sister, I probably have an inordinate amount of
patience for his faults.
Anyway, Sarah and I are standing there in the front of the house, taking off our
shoes. My dad is out in the nearby garage, working on some carpentry project or another. I
hear tiny footsteps pitter-pattering toward my dad.
A high-pitched voice asks, “Dad, can I have an Oreo?”
Dad answers promptly, and I imagine him leaning busily over his work and probably
not making eye contact with Jackson just yet.
“No, Jackson. We’re going to eat dinner in just a few minutes. You shouldn’t have an
Oreo right before dinner.”
An awkward length of silence follows. For a few seconds, neither Jackson nor my
dad says anything. The driveway is still as the grave. Sarah and I look at each other,
curious as to what is happening behind the garage’s concealing walls.
Just as suddenly as the silence had begun, it ends. A high-pitched, clattering thunk
resounds over the driveway.
“Jackson!” my dad exclaims. I picture him hastily straightening up from his work
and turning to face Jackson with all the parental authority he can muster.
Sarah and I make brief eye contact – what in the world is going on out there?
“Jackson, WE DO NOT THROW ROCKS AT PEOPLE!”
Sarah and I laughed until we cried.