My midnight black eight-year-old eyes stare intently at the tall man standing in front of me. He wears a purple and yellow striped shirt, a very unflattering color combination, with thick sand-tan cargo shorts, and piled on top of his head is a massive brown afro. Who is that? I wonder as I clasp my sister’s sweaty chubby hand tighter. The man steps aside to reveal a big banner on the doorway. “Yerba Buena Skatebowl Camp” it reads, and it hangs lopsided, one end brushing the top of a young woman’s head.
“Welcome,” she smiles. “I’m Laura. What’s your name?”
My sister and I timidly shift behind my mom, who extends her hand. “My kids are a little shy. Their names are Emmeline and Claire.”
And so, that’s how my sister Claire and I spent a week in San Francisco, attending one of my most despised camps.
On Sunday night, Claire and I are as excited as kids on Christmas morning, and we run around the house asking my mom random questions about the …show more content…
With a clap of her well-manicured hands, Laura announces that the campers are to begin ice skating. Claire and I head to the rental station, where a large cluster of people socialize by, and request for kids size twelve skates. The lady at the counter, who has wild purple hair, a nose ring, and a snake tattoo crawling up her arm, turns around and pulls out a pair of comically yellow ice skates. “Sorry, hon’, that’s the only pair we have,” she drawls in her deep strong southern accent, and I thoughtlessly accept, eyes still trying to recover from the sudden bright color. The skates are a sun soaked in highlighter, and I desperately wish for a pair of sunglasses to shield my precious young eyes from the monstrosity on my feet. I glance jealously at my sister, and scowl when I see the turquoise pair she has. (Claire lined up before me, so she got the last good color.) Frowning, I shove my warm feet into the wet skates and lace up the tops. Then, I grab my sister’s hand and we head into the
“Welcome,” she smiles. “I’m Laura. What’s your name?”
My sister and I timidly shift behind my mom, who extends her hand. “My kids are a little shy. Their names are Emmeline and Claire.”
And so, that’s how my sister Claire and I spent a week in San Francisco, attending one of my most despised camps.
On Sunday night, Claire and I are as excited as kids on Christmas morning, and we run around the house asking my mom random questions about the …show more content…
With a clap of her well-manicured hands, Laura announces that the campers are to begin ice skating. Claire and I head to the rental station, where a large cluster of people socialize by, and request for kids size twelve skates. The lady at the counter, who has wild purple hair, a nose ring, and a snake tattoo crawling up her arm, turns around and pulls out a pair of comically yellow ice skates. “Sorry, hon’, that’s the only pair we have,” she drawls in her deep strong southern accent, and I thoughtlessly accept, eyes still trying to recover from the sudden bright color. The skates are a sun soaked in highlighter, and I desperately wish for a pair of sunglasses to shield my precious young eyes from the monstrosity on my feet. I glance jealously at my sister, and scowl when I see the turquoise pair she has. (Claire lined up before me, so she got the last good color.) Frowning, I shove my warm feet into the wet skates and lace up the tops. Then, I grab my sister’s hand and we head into the