Hating Goldie by Phyllis Rose

Hating Goldie

Phyllis Rose 

For my tenth birthday I wanted more than anything a sparkly pair of ruby slippers. At this point in my life I had become obsessed with the Wizard of Oz and in order for my life’s dream to be fulfilled there had to be ruby slippers adorning my feet. I had been counting down days for weeks, but finally the day had arrived; October 3rd. Today I am ten years old and I am about to be the happiest kid on the globe with my glittering ruby slippers. I unwrap the canary yellow wrapping paper, slide my hands along the crease of the shoe box; excitement building, speeding up my little heart. I open the shoe box and my rapid my little heart falls into my stomach as I stare at the monotonous brown shoes I have just received for my birthday, as far from a ruby slipper I could possibly imagine.

When I was reading Hating Goldie I could relate to the protagonist when for her birthday she received a canary rather than a trip to Texas. Although I was a bit older when my ruby slipper dream was crushed, I can relate to the despair she felt when her sixth birthdays wish was not granted. I hated those revolting brown shoes, as much as she hated the canary. The smell and appearance of the the brown Italian leather offended my senses, as the song of the canary offended hers. 

Reading this story took me back eight years, and as I read about the protagonist and her frustration at her parents for not letting her suffer I was reminded of my tenth birthday and how upset I was at my parents for making me suffer. Like the protagonist in this story I was privileged and didn’t appreciate the things my parents did for me. My mom thought she was doing what was best for me by getting me the practical brown shoes, just as the mom is the story thought she was doing her best as a mother by withholding reality and not exposing her daughter to death. We all criticize our parents unnecessarily; whether it be for them not allowing us to suffer, or their terrible taste in footwear, but in the end we need to appreciate the life we have been given. Reading Hating Goldie made me appreciate the privileged life I have lived, and after reading I called my mom and gave her the long overdue thank you for the practical brown shoes I received for my tenth birthday.