“ANNIE, ANNIE!!!! I’LL MAKE ANNIE!”
Sandhya hopped around me dancing her tribal dance. Her curls twirled around her little hot face. I had to keep my fingers from pinching her chubby cheeks. Every time I plucked her dimpled cheeks she would complain in an adult tone. ‘Don’t do it Amma. I am 6 years old what would others think?”
Suddenly she froze and her eyes sparkled, ‘Amma you can help me with my art project.” I thanked her graciously and asked what she had in mind.
“Everybody has to make a gift and the bestest gift will be given to Mrs. Joyce Madhan on her birthday.”
I wondered what possible gift a 6year old could give the headmistress of a school?
“ANNIE, ANNIE!!!! I’LL MAKE ANNIE!” she repeated.
I never doubted my daughter’s lung power. I raised a questioning eyebrow but was silenced in my attempt to speak as my highly energized daughter dragged me into her room. And within minutes there I was sitting cross legged on the floor with my daughter snuggling into me as I caught her sweet baby smell. She tilted her head to a side as she eyed the heap of scraps and bits piled in front of us and in complete faith said, “Make Annie, Amma.”
I looked heavenward, sighed, rolled up my sleeves and got to work. We stuck and glued, stitched and tied, plaited and stuffed. Little pudgy fingers got in the way. An hour later I was startled by a gentle snore. I smiled and gently woke my sleeping angel.
“Annie is ready.” I whispered.
Sandhya was up like lightning as she stared at the crudely shaped figure sitting before us. Her big eyes widened like saucers until I feared that they might pop out.
She oohed and aahed over her Annie.
Annie the rag doll that she created.
She beamed with pride and puffed up her chest as she introduced me to Annie.
Polite ‘How do you do’s?’ were exchanged.
All was fine or so I thought until the next day my baby walked in crushed and in tears. It tore my heart to see my little one so sad. She ran into my arms as I hugged her sobbing body. Her hot tears and breath ran down my neck as she wailed on and I helplessly held on willing my heart not to break into pieces.
“Th..they made….f…fun….ammmaaaaaa” she howled.
They ….sniff…c…call…ed….hic…her …st…stupid.” She sobbed on.
My anger mounted as murderous thoughts flashed in my mind. How dare they do this to my baby. And what was the teacher doing when my baby was teased. Wait till I give that woman a piece of my mind. She seems in capable of teaching children to appreciate their peers…..My vision blurred as my temper rose and my mind kept raging. Suddenly soft pudgy hands held my face, tears streaming down her brave little face. “ I don’t care Amma. I will always love Annie. She is mine and she is beautiful.
I eyed the little rag piece. I smiled; it was quiet shaggy but Annie definitely had a charm. I carried my little one saying, ‘Let’s show daddy. He’ll love Annie?’
‘Really?’ asked my little on uncertainly as she dried her eyes with the back of her palms.
‘Most definitely!’ and I carried my angel to her father for some comfort and much needed cuddling.
Sandhya hopped around me dancing her tribal dance. Her curls twirled around her little hot face. I had to keep my fingers from pinching her chubby cheeks. Every time I plucked her dimpled cheeks she would complain in an adult tone. ‘Don’t do it Amma. I am 6 years old what would others think?”
Suddenly she froze and her eyes sparkled, ‘Amma you can help me with my art project.” I thanked her graciously and asked what she had in mind.
“Everybody has to make a gift and the bestest gift will be given to Mrs. Joyce Madhan on her birthday.”
I wondered what possible gift a 6year old could give the headmistress of a school?
“ANNIE, ANNIE!!!! I’LL MAKE ANNIE!” she repeated.
I never doubted my daughter’s lung power. I raised a questioning eyebrow but was silenced in my attempt to speak as my highly energized daughter dragged me into her room. And within minutes there I was sitting cross legged on the floor with my daughter snuggling into me as I caught her sweet baby smell. She tilted her head to a side as she eyed the heap of scraps and bits piled in front of us and in complete faith said, “Make Annie, Amma.”
I looked heavenward, sighed, rolled up my sleeves and got to work. We stuck and glued, stitched and tied, plaited and stuffed. Little pudgy fingers got in the way. An hour later I was startled by a gentle snore. I smiled and gently woke my sleeping angel.
“Annie is ready.” I whispered.
Sandhya was up like lightning as she stared at the crudely shaped figure sitting before us. Her big eyes widened like saucers until I feared that they might pop out.
She oohed and aahed over her Annie.
Annie the rag doll that she created.
She beamed with pride and puffed up her chest as she introduced me to Annie.
Polite ‘How do you do’s?’ were exchanged.
All was fine or so I thought until the next day my baby walked in crushed and in tears. It tore my heart to see my little one so sad. She ran into my arms as I hugged her sobbing body. Her hot tears and breath ran down my neck as she wailed on and I helplessly held on willing my heart not to break into pieces.
“Th..they made….f…fun….ammmaaaaaa” she howled.
They ….sniff…c…call…ed….hic…her …st…stupid.” She sobbed on.
My anger mounted as murderous thoughts flashed in my mind. How dare they do this to my baby. And what was the teacher doing when my baby was teased. Wait till I give that woman a piece of my mind. She seems in capable of teaching children to appreciate their peers…..My vision blurred as my temper rose and my mind kept raging. Suddenly soft pudgy hands held my face, tears streaming down her brave little face. “ I don’t care Amma. I will always love Annie. She is mine and she is beautiful.
I eyed the little rag piece. I smiled; it was quiet shaggy but Annie definitely had a charm. I carried my little one saying, ‘Let’s show daddy. He’ll love Annie?’
‘Really?’ asked my little on uncertainly as she dried her eyes with the back of her palms.
‘Most definitely!’ and I carried my angel to her father for some comfort and much needed cuddling.
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