Essay on The Birth Of A Big Ball Of Goo
The Birth of a Big Ball of Goo
My nana always told me I was bound for great things. Ever since she found out I was going to be a girl, she knew I would be blessed. Both of those, I’m not so sure about. Let’s be honest: my conception was not planned. My father was a high school drop out (he failed ninth grade three times, then met my mother when she was a junior). My mother had been a former honor roll student, that is, until she met Brad. Brad. That bad-boy with a motorbike that every girl wanted. I think that was the start of her downfall.
I should probably name my parents. My dad was called Bryan, and my mom is named Elizabeth. There’s a reason for the past tense of what Bryan was called. Anyway, Brad and my mom didn’t work out. That was too bad, for two reasons. One, he probably could’ve kept her out of some of the trouble. And two, she would’ve never dated my dad. (But then I wouldn’t be here and be blessed, as my Nana says.) I think my parents met when my mom was eighteen and my dad was twenty. By then, Bryan, as we’ll call him, already had an arrest record and my mom was head over heels. Evidence of this can be found in her dumb senior yearbook, scribbled over and over with well wishes like “Good luck with Suggs, you’re gonna need it!” Yeah, it turns out everyone was right. She would need help – because they created a child. Me.
My name is Mallory, a fourteenth century French nickname meaning “unlucky”, followed by Elizabeth, meaning “oath of…