disillusioned

It was in second grade geography that I learned of Puerto Rico. I thought, boy do I want to go there, they must be super rich; why else would it be named that. Little did I know I'd move to Cleveland a couple of years later and meet a whole lot of Puerto Ricans. 

The first apartment we lived in when in Cleveland was an upstairs apartment; the landlady lived downstairs. She often shared her childhood stories of how often she was spanked. My 9 year old self worshiped this woman, brazenly I'd ask her to share stories in detail. By 10, I believed I could get her to spank me, so, I began smacking her bottom and then running away. I did this shamelessly for a summer. perhaps? I do not recall how long. It wasn't until my brother told me she was so fed up with me she wanted to "darle una pela a tu hermana" upon hearing this I resigned myself to never getting a spanking from her. After all I wasn't her child for her to discipline and I was just a little brazen girl. It was at the tender age of 10 that the realization of not getting a spanking for misbehaving would not just simply happen, finally settled in.