Jaime Preciado and the Mighty Ding
Four Year Olds, Floors, and Failing English Grades
Jaime Preciado and the Mighty Ding
I am Willow Caston. My friends call my Ding, but we’ll get to that in a minute.
I am a percussionist, a marimba player, pianist, a reader, lover of anything music/pizza, and someone who suffers from weird little disorder. Let’s see… I have two pugs. Both are fat, blind, and diabetic. It’s kind of funny to see them run down the hall and bump into the hallway walls like a pinball game. It sort of reminds me of the song Pinball Wizard…
Anyways, I can’t speak.
I call it the I-Can’t-Speak-But-Kind-of-Can-Disorder. No, I wasn’t dropped on the floor as a kid-a floor was dropped on me.
Literally.
I was walking through one of those sketchy home appliance/repair stores, the one with the awkward washers and the garden section with cactus-in-easy-reach-to-stab-your-eye out stores. Well, my parents were walking with me through this store and, being the young-and-dumb little four year old I was, I decided to explore the shiny new world of flooring! Exciting, right?
Well, there were some tiles hung in the air by cables (don’t ask me why, just ask the stupid manager) and one suddenly snapped. It was a freak accident. Well, I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. The tile hit my head and was seriously injured. I was in the hospital, rushed in an ambulance, and had my mother screaming her head off about how much blood I lost and why did my face look like mashed potatoes ordeal.
Anyways, the tile hit the part of my skull that snapped my brain in the speech control area, or whatever fancy scientific term they explained to my parents. To be quite honest, I was just interested in the Winnie the Pooh sticker they gave me. It was quite exciting. Best part of the hospital trip, if I do say so myself.
So from then on out, I can’t speak. I can understand people talking to me, but for some reason, I cannot form the words and express them. The doctors explained that this would take a long time to heal, possibly decades, if it heals at all.
But when I was ten, something exciting happened. I said my first word. It took that long, but it finally happened. I got flowers and all that shiz for it.
I said, “Ding.” After I heard the doorbell, I managed to mimic the sound. Now, I reply with “Ding” in various emotional tones.
“Ding!” For angry. “Ding!” For happy. “Ding!” For sad.
Ding for anything.
So, eight years after my first word, I figured it was long due for another word to be added to my vocabulary.
I am Willow Caston. My friends call my Ding, but we’ll get to that in a minute.
I am a percussionist, a marimba player, pianist, a reader, lover of anything music/pizza, and someone who suffers from weird little disorder. Let’s see… I have two pugs. Both are fat, blind, and diabetic. It’s kind of funny to see them run down the hall and bump into the hallway walls like a pinball game. It sort of reminds me of the song Pinball Wizard…
Anyways, I can’t speak.
I call it the I-Can’t-Speak-But-Kind-of-Can-Disorder. No, I wasn’t dropped on the floor as a kid-a floor was dropped on me.
Literally.
I was walking through one of those sketchy home appliance/repair stores, the one with the awkward washers and the garden section with cactus-in-easy-reach-to-stab-your-eye out stores. Well, my parents were walking with me through this store and, being the young-and-dumb little four year old I was, I decided to explore the shiny new world of flooring! Exciting, right?
Well, there were some tiles hung in the air by cables (don’t ask me why, just ask the stupid manager) and one suddenly snapped. It was a freak accident. Well, I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. The tile hit my head and was seriously injured. I was in the hospital, rushed in an ambulance, and had my mother screaming her head off about how much blood I lost and why did my face look like mashed potatoes ordeal.
Anyways, the tile hit the part of my skull that snapped my brain in the speech control area, or whatever fancy scientific term they explained to my parents. To be quite honest, I was just interested in the Winnie the Pooh sticker they gave me. It was quite exciting. Best part of the hospital trip, if I do say so myself.
So from then on out, I can’t speak. I can understand people talking to me, but for some reason, I cannot form the words and express them. The doctors explained that this would take a long time to heal, possibly decades, if it heals at all.
But when I was ten, something exciting happened. I said my first word. It took that long, but it finally happened. I got flowers and all that shiz for it.
I said, “Ding.” After I heard the doorbell, I managed to mimic the sound. Now, I reply with “Ding” in various emotional tones.
“Ding!” For angry. “Ding!” For happy. “Ding!” For sad.
Ding for anything.
So, eight years after my first word, I figured it was long due for another word to be added to my vocabulary.
Notes
Hello everyone! So this is going to be a little story for a Quotes Contest I'm participating in! It's not long at all, only a few chapters! If you want this to be turned into more of a story, it's going to be later!
Thanks, and love you all!
@piercingirisash
Aww thank you! I hope you enjoy the sequel just as much!
6/10/15