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February 12, 2026
Give Me Nine?
By Mikie Baker
The Bandera Prophet
Sit back on the couch, get all comfy and close your eyes. No wait. Don’t do that because you need to read. Concentrate on the “you” way back in third grade. Just 9, but young enough to be struggling with learning long division while not having a worry in the world because all the clothes you try on magically fit and make you look great.
But maybe being 9 isn’t so easy after all. Take my last sleep over with Gorgeous Good Genes, that 9-year-old, half-Hispanic beautiful granddaughter blessed with a bossy mouth and long legs. And there’s that dang long division.
GGG: I’m BORED!!!
ME: What do you mean you’re bored? You’re with me and I always do fun things with you like play school, jewelry shop, color with 120 different crayons, and let you win all the games.
GGG: So? I’m BORED!!! I want another driving lesson in the golf cart.
ME: Well, it’s 42 degrees with a wind chill of 27 and there’s cedar pollen flying around everywhere. Freezing to death won’t be quite as bad as Cedar Fever.
GGG: Yeah, 6-7, 6-7, 6-7. I’m BORED!!!
I’m an only child and I was never bored. I could wreck my room for hours with all sorts of creative madness. With that phone attached to her hip, how can she be bored?
ME: So, what time do you have to get up in the morning to go to school?
GGG: I don’t know. I’m only 9.
ME: At what age does time become important?
GGG: I don’t know. I’m only 9 and I’m starving. I’ll need a sliced-up apple, or I shall simply fade away.
ME: Maybe that’s not such a bad idea…
GGG: Ok, now we’re going to play school. I’m the teacher and you are the student. What is your name?
ME: Sylvia Pennybutt.
GGG: Ok, Sylvia, now here’s a story I want you to read that I’ve ripped out of the book and then you must answer the questions with this pencil.
ME: Only half the story is here so how can I answer the questions?
GGG: Do I need to call the principal?
ME: No, I’ll make something up about a prince, an apple and a wonderful witch born on Halloween.
GGG: Oh good! Extra credit. You may stand first in line when it’s time for lunch. And it’s time for lunch because I’m hungry again. After lunch, we can work on division. What’s 20 divided by 40?
ME: Trust me, you don’t want to know because you don’t understand decimal points yet.
ME: So, when I watch you at the basketball games you can really run fast from one end of the court to the other but then you just stand there. Aren’t you supposed to at least try and catch the ball?
GGG: No, I’m a guard. The coach said not to catch the ball.
ME: Ok, but why don’t you at least try waving your arms in their face? You’ll never be Caitlin Clark at this rate.
ME: Say, since your other grandmother is Hispanic and speaks only Spanish, maybe you can teach me Spanish so I can understand Bad Bunny.
GGG: He’s cute! I don’t speak Spanish. I speak English.
Then she proceeds to hop out of the car and starts speaking fluent Spanish to her grandmother. Me? Forget the Spanish. I need a pain pill and a long nap. 9-year-olds will do that to you.
At least I’m not bored.
But maybe being 9 isn’t so easy after all. Take my last sleep over with Gorgeous Good Genes, that 9-year-old, half-Hispanic beautiful granddaughter blessed with a bossy mouth and long legs. And there’s that dang long division.
GGG: I’m BORED!!!
ME: What do you mean you’re bored? You’re with me and I always do fun things with you like play school, jewelry shop, color with 120 different crayons, and let you win all the games.
GGG: So? I’m BORED!!! I want another driving lesson in the golf cart.
ME: Well, it’s 42 degrees with a wind chill of 27 and there’s cedar pollen flying around everywhere. Freezing to death won’t be quite as bad as Cedar Fever.
GGG: Yeah, 6-7, 6-7, 6-7. I’m BORED!!!
I’m an only child and I was never bored. I could wreck my room for hours with all sorts of creative madness. With that phone attached to her hip, how can she be bored?
ME: So, what time do you have to get up in the morning to go to school?
GGG: I don’t know. I’m only 9.
ME: At what age does time become important?
GGG: I don’t know. I’m only 9 and I’m starving. I’ll need a sliced-up apple, or I shall simply fade away.
ME: Maybe that’s not such a bad idea…
GGG: Ok, now we’re going to play school. I’m the teacher and you are the student. What is your name?
ME: Sylvia Pennybutt.
GGG: Ok, Sylvia, now here’s a story I want you to read that I’ve ripped out of the book and then you must answer the questions with this pencil.
ME: Only half the story is here so how can I answer the questions?
GGG: Do I need to call the principal?
ME: No, I’ll make something up about a prince, an apple and a wonderful witch born on Halloween.
GGG: Oh good! Extra credit. You may stand first in line when it’s time for lunch. And it’s time for lunch because I’m hungry again. After lunch, we can work on division. What’s 20 divided by 40?
ME: Trust me, you don’t want to know because you don’t understand decimal points yet.
ME: So, when I watch you at the basketball games you can really run fast from one end of the court to the other but then you just stand there. Aren’t you supposed to at least try and catch the ball?
GGG: No, I’m a guard. The coach said not to catch the ball.
ME: Ok, but why don’t you at least try waving your arms in their face? You’ll never be Caitlin Clark at this rate.
ME: Say, since your other grandmother is Hispanic and speaks only Spanish, maybe you can teach me Spanish so I can understand Bad Bunny.
GGG: He’s cute! I don’t speak Spanish. I speak English.
Then she proceeds to hop out of the car and starts speaking fluent Spanish to her grandmother. Me? Forget the Spanish. I need a pain pill and a long nap. 9-year-olds will do that to you.
At least I’m not bored.