I leave my block
I used to ride in a grocery cart when we shopped for food. Now my folks
send me to the store for things they forgot to buy. Today I have to buy
oatmeal.
I walk down the aisles in the store. I must pay attention if I am to
find the oatmeal among the cans, boxes, bottles, and bags that fill the
shelves. I get hungry when I see all that food. But I like to look at
it. The oranges, apples, cabbages, and tomatoes in the trays are as
bright as the new crayons in my box. I see people choose food, and I
think, “A store is a big cupboard for a neighborhood.”
As I walk through the store, I watch the people who work there. I see
them putting boxes and cans on shelves. I see someone weighing onions on
a scale. Another person is counting ears of corn.
I find the box of oatmeal and take it to the place where I can pay for
it. The cashier looks at it and punches numbers on a machine. The
machine shows how much I must pay. The cashier takes my money and counts
my change. I think, “A store is a big arithmetic problem. It must be
hard to know what so many numbers mean.”
I left my house and my block to run an errand. I’ve done it once. I know
that I can do it again.
