When I was young I didn't know that divorce existed. I didn't know that marriages could end. I was young when an uncle went through a divorce and because it was news to me that marriages could end I asked my parents why my uncle wasn't married to my aunt anymore.
I was told that my uncle's wife just woke up one day and decided she didn't want to be married anymore. Years later a 2nd uncle's marriage ended. I was a teenager and asked the same questions. I'd had a friend by that point whose parents divorced but I wasn't bold enough to ask her why. So I asked again why this 2nd uncle wasn't married anymore.
I was told again that this 2nd uncle's wife just woke up one day and decided she didn't want to be married anymore.
Now, I do understand that these were attempts at age appropriate answers to hard, complicated questions. Through my adult eyes I understand marriages end for a myriad of reasons that are rarely completely 1one persons fault. But to my kid eyes it seemed a reasonable enough cause, I guess.
It's no secret I have relationship issues, and abandonment issues exacerbated by long-term relationships (specifically those of the romantic nature). A couple of months ago I reconnected with a family member and we began swapping stories and information. I relayed the stories of my uncles divorces and the reasons I was given for the end of their marriage. But as I sat on the sofa messaging with my family member it hit me, that was probably not actually the reason my uncles were divorced.
I know, duh. Right?
Here I was, 33 years old, still believing the age appropriate reason for divorce. It struck me that combined with my sense of abandonment, that people always leave, and the entrenched belief that these two uncles who I loved deeply and I had put on the pedestal fun uncles are often put on were left by women that just decided one day they didn't want to be married anymore; it's no wonder I'm certain any marriage I might enter into would only end in being left.
If people can just wake up one morning and decide to leave then what's to stop it from happening to me? I mean; I get now that it's not true. But I still sort of believe it, in large and small ways.
It's definitely on my list of "things to talk about with my therapist", but this last month the impact of realizing how deeply I believed that people just wake up one day and decide not to be married has been churning inside of me.
I don't know where it goes from here, but the freedom of discovering another lie, another broken belief and knowing that once it's discovered it can be fought against and overcome has been overwhelming.
Showing posts with label that are probably only partly true. Show all posts
Showing posts with label that are probably only partly true. Show all posts
10.14.2012
9.15.2011
I remember
I remember the feeling of you more than you. I remember you mostly through stories re-told to me for years and decades of my life.
I have a picture of you, at graduation, smiling down at whoever was taking the picture and I wonder about you. I wonder what would have been different had you stayed longer.
I remember a feeling of you under my knees and poking hands as I clambered up and up and up until I could reach your face to pat it softly on the side.
I remember a room, with a bed in it, with brown carpets and heavy wooden furniture. I remember the hose
itching my legs and the lace itching my neck and wrists.
I remember a long ceremony and a new lady that I liked well enough.
I remember in snippets and breaths of feelings and flashes. I remember in the breathing in and realizing I'm smelling a scent that really belongs to you.
I remember a room filled with strangers and how it was the first time I recall disliking the smell of flowers when there was a big box in the room with them and tears falling on my head.
I remember wondering, why you weren't around anymore and trying to figure out where you went. I remember knowing that asking wasn't an option. Because even that small I remember feeling shamed by my questions and inability to understand things way beyond my maturity.
I remember your room with the wall of books. I remember wanting a wall of books in a heavy wooden case just like yours. I remember looking out your window and wondering what you thought when you looked out them.
I remember you more in feelings than fact; in disjointed flashes and shared stories from mostly people that I can no longer trust to tell me truths about anything.
I have a picture of you, at graduation, smiling down at whoever was taking the picture and I wonder about you. I wonder what would have been different had you stayed longer.
I remember a feeling of you under my knees and poking hands as I clambered up and up and up until I could reach your face to pat it softly on the side.
I remember a room, with a bed in it, with brown carpets and heavy wooden furniture. I remember the hose
itching my legs and the lace itching my neck and wrists.
I remember a long ceremony and a new lady that I liked well enough.
I remember in snippets and breaths of feelings and flashes. I remember in the breathing in and realizing I'm smelling a scent that really belongs to you.
I remember a room filled with strangers and how it was the first time I recall disliking the smell of flowers when there was a big box in the room with them and tears falling on my head.
I remember wondering, why you weren't around anymore and trying to figure out where you went. I remember knowing that asking wasn't an option. Because even that small I remember feeling shamed by my questions and inability to understand things way beyond my maturity.
I remember your room with the wall of books. I remember wanting a wall of books in a heavy wooden case just like yours. I remember looking out your window and wondering what you thought when you looked out them.
I remember you more in feelings than fact; in disjointed flashes and shared stories from mostly people that I can no longer trust to tell me truths about anything.
8.02.2011
Wake Up
My mom had a brother named John, we called him Johnny.
He was sick a lot, there were some things wrong with him and he was also a short but rotund man. But he was Uncle Johnny. He died when I was 3ish.
The story goes that he slept a lot, because of the decreased amount of oxygen he was receiving. Whenever we would go over to the farm house and he was there he would be sleeping on the sofa.
I would take it upon myself to climb up his belly and pat him on the face telling him I had arrived and it was time to wake up and play with me. He would wake up and I would continue to climb all over him.
When he died I hear I was told that he fell asleep and woke up in heaven with Jesus. He would stay there forever. So when we went to his funeral and I saw him laying in his casket I believed he was asleep. There were also those little Catholic kneeling things in front of his casket.
So when I was unattended I wandered over to the casket and climbed up the "steps" and looked at him.
Yep, he looked asleep.
So I kept climbing and crawled into the casket and up his belly until I could reach his face. I put my hands on his face and I said, "Wake up Uncle Johnny, I'm here! It's time to get up and play with me!"
I don't know what happened next, that part of the story was never told. I can imagine that my Grandma, his mom was pretty upset as were a lot of the other adults. He was pretty young when he died.
I do remember asking my Grandma about it when I was 16. I was trying to find out more about Uncle Johnny and what he was like, since I didn't remember him that well. I only really remembered how I felt when I was around him. After a little bit of small talk I asked her if the funeral story was true.
She stopped talking for a moment and just looked at me with hard little eyes. Then she said, "Yes. I can't believe what a selfish and cruel girl you were to do that to me at my sons funeral. I will NEVER EVER forgive you for what you did."
As all memories and stories go I remember more about how I felt during each part of the story than the specifics. The story had been told and re-told so often that I honestly wasn't sure if it even happened. That's why these are memories, that are probably only partly true. But I remember the shame I felt. Because I believed her when she said I was selfish and cruel, I believed her when she said I was bad.
I believe that she never forgave me until the day she died. There was no reason to doubt a woman that held a grudge for over 70 years couldn't nurse one for over 15.
He was sick a lot, there were some things wrong with him and he was also a short but rotund man. But he was Uncle Johnny. He died when I was 3ish.
The story goes that he slept a lot, because of the decreased amount of oxygen he was receiving. Whenever we would go over to the farm house and he was there he would be sleeping on the sofa.
I would take it upon myself to climb up his belly and pat him on the face telling him I had arrived and it was time to wake up and play with me. He would wake up and I would continue to climb all over him.
When he died I hear I was told that he fell asleep and woke up in heaven with Jesus. He would stay there forever. So when we went to his funeral and I saw him laying in his casket I believed he was asleep. There were also those little Catholic kneeling things in front of his casket.
So when I was unattended I wandered over to the casket and climbed up the "steps" and looked at him.
Yep, he looked asleep.
So I kept climbing and crawled into the casket and up his belly until I could reach his face. I put my hands on his face and I said, "Wake up Uncle Johnny, I'm here! It's time to get up and play with me!"
I don't know what happened next, that part of the story was never told. I can imagine that my Grandma, his mom was pretty upset as were a lot of the other adults. He was pretty young when he died.
I do remember asking my Grandma about it when I was 16. I was trying to find out more about Uncle Johnny and what he was like, since I didn't remember him that well. I only really remembered how I felt when I was around him. After a little bit of small talk I asked her if the funeral story was true.
She stopped talking for a moment and just looked at me with hard little eyes. Then she said, "Yes. I can't believe what a selfish and cruel girl you were to do that to me at my sons funeral. I will NEVER EVER forgive you for what you did."
As all memories and stories go I remember more about how I felt during each part of the story than the specifics. The story had been told and re-told so often that I honestly wasn't sure if it even happened. That's why these are memories, that are probably only partly true. But I remember the shame I felt. Because I believed her when she said I was selfish and cruel, I believed her when she said I was bad.
I believe that she never forgave me until the day she died. There was no reason to doubt a woman that held a grudge for over 70 years couldn't nurse one for over 15.
7.20.2011
Drive Time
I couldn't wait to get my license.
My sister had tried to teach me how to drive stick at 14 but I just couldn't get the clutch/shift timing down...oh and there was the time I drove by the cop while trying to get out of 1st. That was fun!
But I couldn't wait.
So I didn't.
From 14 forward whenever I was home alone and there was a car available I would take the car and disappear down the country roads around my house. I would drive as fast as possible as far as possible until I had to turn around so I could make it home in time.
But before I would go home I'd go to the gas station and fill the tank up to the level it was at when I left so no one noticed the car had been used. I also got home early enough for the car to cool down before anyone thought to check it.
It was glorious.
One time I was driving through town and a cop pulled up behind me. Oh crap! He was pulling me over! I started to shake and had no idea what I was going to do. I just sat there freaking out trying to remain calm. He sidled up to my window as I rolled it down and said, "Yes, officer?" (and I may have batted my eyelashes a little bit....)
Thankfully he replied that he was just pulling me over because there had been a bad accident at the intersection ahead of me and the road was blocked. The last road to turn around on was just in front of me and he didn't want me to get stuck.
(PHEW!)
Another time I was at the gas station topping off the tank and accidentally shut the drivers side door. This was bad because the door stuck and often you weren't able to get back in at all.
This was also bad because I left the keys in the car and the passenger door was locked.
How was I going to explain being stuck at the gas station?!
Sometimes if you hit the handle just right you could get the door open and I stood there banging on the door and yanking on the handle for about 15 minutes before the door opened. Then I had to rush home and barely made it back in the house before mom pulled in from work.
Oh lordy!
But that still didn't dissuade me and I kept up my secret drives until they didn't have to be secret anymore.
I miss driving fast, windows open with the radio blaring. Well, I don't miss driving fast, I still do that.
My sister had tried to teach me how to drive stick at 14 but I just couldn't get the clutch/shift timing down...oh and there was the time I drove by the cop while trying to get out of 1st. That was fun!
But I couldn't wait.
So I didn't.
From 14 forward whenever I was home alone and there was a car available I would take the car and disappear down the country roads around my house. I would drive as fast as possible as far as possible until I had to turn around so I could make it home in time.
But before I would go home I'd go to the gas station and fill the tank up to the level it was at when I left so no one noticed the car had been used. I also got home early enough for the car to cool down before anyone thought to check it.
It was glorious.
One time I was driving through town and a cop pulled up behind me. Oh crap! He was pulling me over! I started to shake and had no idea what I was going to do. I just sat there freaking out trying to remain calm. He sidled up to my window as I rolled it down and said, "Yes, officer?" (and I may have batted my eyelashes a little bit....)
Thankfully he replied that he was just pulling me over because there had been a bad accident at the intersection ahead of me and the road was blocked. The last road to turn around on was just in front of me and he didn't want me to get stuck.
(PHEW!)
Another time I was at the gas station topping off the tank and accidentally shut the drivers side door. This was bad because the door stuck and often you weren't able to get back in at all.
This was also bad because I left the keys in the car and the passenger door was locked.
How was I going to explain being stuck at the gas station?!
Sometimes if you hit the handle just right you could get the door open and I stood there banging on the door and yanking on the handle for about 15 minutes before the door opened. Then I had to rush home and barely made it back in the house before mom pulled in from work.
Oh lordy!
But that still didn't dissuade me and I kept up my secret drives until they didn't have to be secret anymore.
I miss driving fast, windows open with the radio blaring. Well, I don't miss driving fast, I still do that.
7.19.2011
Vodka (on the rocks)
When we were 11 my sister and I each got to travel by ourselves on a plane to see our Aunt and Uncles in St Louis. For a week.
It was a HUGE deal.
When it was my turn I was so excited, not only to be going, but to be traveling...by myself.
It was so grown up!
So I packed my bag and snagged my teddy bear and the book I was reading and boarded the plane. Before lift off the stewardess that was assigned to "watch me" during the flight came over to make sure I was settled ok. It was a mostly empty flight, so I figured she probably didn't have anything else to do anyway.
I was settled in my center seat with Teddy buckled into the seat by the window (he was really bossy and insisted if I really loved him he would get the window seat) and was cracking open my book. I was halfway through it and it was so deliciously creepy.
The stewardess sidled up and asked me how I was. "Fine" I replied, trying to brush her off because I was at a good part of my book and didn't want to be bothered.
"Can I get you something to drink, sweetie?"
"A coke" I replied absentmindedly. I was soooo the proffessional traveler.
But this woman wouldn't go away. She rambled on about flying and how scary but fun it was and was it my first time, was I nervous, who was I going to see, what book was I reading.
Oh! I could show her my book. That usually got adults to shrink away and leave me alone.
So I looked up, met her eyes and slowly closed my book and showed her the cover. It had a terrifying clown on the cover with eyes dark like coal and bright red hair.
I was reading It by Stephen King.
At 11
While flying on a plane by myself.
My plan worked. She stumbled backwards and said she'd get my coke and be right back.
Then, when she returned she tried to engage me again.
Oh what a cute bear! What's his name, how long has been with you?!
I replied that his name was Teddy and I've had him since I was born.
She said, that's adorable. Would Teddy like anything to drink?
I sighed.
I lowered my book slowly and raised my eyes to meet hers.
"Yes, he would just LOVE a vodka. On the rocks of course."
She didn't really come bug me anymore after that.
I also never got that darn vodka on the rocks.
It was a HUGE deal.
When it was my turn I was so excited, not only to be going, but to be traveling...by myself.
It was so grown up!
So I packed my bag and snagged my teddy bear and the book I was reading and boarded the plane. Before lift off the stewardess that was assigned to "watch me" during the flight came over to make sure I was settled ok. It was a mostly empty flight, so I figured she probably didn't have anything else to do anyway.
I was settled in my center seat with Teddy buckled into the seat by the window (he was really bossy and insisted if I really loved him he would get the window seat) and was cracking open my book. I was halfway through it and it was so deliciously creepy.
The stewardess sidled up and asked me how I was. "Fine" I replied, trying to brush her off because I was at a good part of my book and didn't want to be bothered.
"Can I get you something to drink, sweetie?"
"A coke" I replied absentmindedly. I was soooo the proffessional traveler.
But this woman wouldn't go away. She rambled on about flying and how scary but fun it was and was it my first time, was I nervous, who was I going to see, what book was I reading.
Oh! I could show her my book. That usually got adults to shrink away and leave me alone.
So I looked up, met her eyes and slowly closed my book and showed her the cover. It had a terrifying clown on the cover with eyes dark like coal and bright red hair.
I was reading It by Stephen King.
At 11
While flying on a plane by myself.
My plan worked. She stumbled backwards and said she'd get my coke and be right back.
Then, when she returned she tried to engage me again.
Oh what a cute bear! What's his name, how long has been with you?!
I replied that his name was Teddy and I've had him since I was born.
She said, that's adorable. Would Teddy like anything to drink?
I sighed.
I lowered my book slowly and raised my eyes to meet hers.
"Yes, he would just LOVE a vodka. On the rocks of course."
She didn't really come bug me anymore after that.
I also never got that darn vodka on the rocks.
4.25.2011
Back Room
I hated going there.
Nothing ever really happened, in the really happened sense.
It just felt wrong.
A bird nose and magnifying glasses
Hands that lingered a little higher and longer than needed when helping me stamp in time.
Hugs that made me establish no touching days with people that gave appropriate length hugs with hands clasping and clutching my upper back instead of my upper ass
Pulling my hair back and moving a thumb down the back of my neck slowly
Resting an arm around a waist while discussing practice charts
Whispering, "You're so special" in a tone that made me wish and hope to be never be anything special at all
A little window and a waiting chair just outside the door may have kept the hands technically within bounds but they were out of bounds all the same.
You were trusted enough for a change of venue to your home
With no small window, no waiting chair
Jumpy and scared I hid behind insolence and refusal to sit anywhere near you until she returned
It was the last time
I got in trouble for being so rude
But it was worth every harsh word to never return to your side again
Nothing ever really happened, in the really happened sense.
It just felt wrong.
A bird nose and magnifying glasses
Hands that lingered a little higher and longer than needed when helping me stamp in time.
Hugs that made me establish no touching days with people that gave appropriate length hugs with hands clasping and clutching my upper back instead of my upper ass
Pulling my hair back and moving a thumb down the back of my neck slowly
Resting an arm around a waist while discussing practice charts
Whispering, "You're so special" in a tone that made me wish and hope to be never be anything special at all
A little window and a waiting chair just outside the door may have kept the hands technically within bounds but they were out of bounds all the same.
You were trusted enough for a change of venue to your home
With no small window, no waiting chair
Jumpy and scared I hid behind insolence and refusal to sit anywhere near you until she returned
It was the last time
I got in trouble for being so rude
But it was worth every harsh word to never return to your side again
4.06.2011
Santa Claus and Thunderstorms
When I was a kid I began to suspect that Santa wasn't exactly who he said he was. I'd heard rumors of course, but I figured they were just rumors.
But one year I decided to test him.
I told my parents and Santa's helpers at the malls what I wanted but I omitted one gift that I really wanted. A My Buddy (or Kid Sister) Doll.
I wrote a letter to Santa and stuck it in a mailbox one Saturday when no one was looking.
On Christmas morning I opened all of my gifts and there was no doll.
And I knew.
I knew the truth.
On another note I was terrified (and still am) of thunderstorms. They seem very end times ominous and it just seems that bad things are more likely to happen when the skies are raging. As a kid my parents would try to soothe me and reassure me so I wasn't so scared.
They told me that thunderstorms were God having a bowling party in Heaven. That the thunder was when someone got a strike and lighting was everyone taking pictures at the party.
What a fun God right?
Wrong.
I was even more upset and freaked out.
Because I was TERRIFIED and God was having a PARTY!?!?! What was that about?!
Now I was going to die and probably go to hell because God was BOWLING?
What.Ever
These are mostly funny anecdotes that I tell people because they are the funny ramblings of a weird kid. But I was telling the Santa story the other night and it occurred to me that these were sneak peeks at how I view relationships (and in a lot of ways how I have viewed humanity as a whole).
Untrustworthy.
Can't really count on them.
Will let you down.
Will forget you.
You don't matter.
Liars.
It made me really sad.
It made me sad to realize that beneath the silliness of these stories there seemed to be this little girl that was pretty convinced she'd be forgotten or overlooked in some way. There was a little girl that didn't trust she could believe in people and she had to sneak around and "trick" people into revealing the truth about themselves (or the lack of themselves as it were).
It made me sad too to realize that underneath all of my funny stories and anecdotes on life today that there's still a little girl trying to figure out if she'll be forgotten, overlooked and left yet again. That little girl still struggles with the idea that she has to "trick" people into showing who they really are because she suspects they aren't real.
I'm struggling between two very different realities in my head lately. The truth I know in my head and what I believe to be true in my heart.
I know the world isn't black and white.
I know that people aren't either good or bad.
I know that there are nuances to relationships that always make it work to remain close.
But I believe that the world is black and white. That there is a clear right and wrong. I believe that people are either good or bad that that relationships are either on or off.
I'm trying to stitch my heart back together and get it in line with my head. But some days I wake up and I've run out of thread and my needle has dulled.
Storms rolled through earlier this week and I was reminded once again of my fear of being forgotten and my fear of the bad and scary. Tossing and turning through the night I dreamt of people long dead and those I wished would just die already (as if that would really solve anything, but I'm an adolescent child and terrible person sometimes, sorry to break the news to you).
I woke hungover from the fears and paranoia surging through my heart. I looked out the window and I saw blue skies and was reminded.
I remembered that I am no longer a little girl that must submit herself to others authority just because they are bigger than me.
I remembered that even though Santa didn't come through for me I had parents that heard me telling the funny story and came through for me in the silliest and smallest way more than a decade later.
I remembered that God is a big God and he doesn't really throw bowling parties and forget about scared little girls.
I remembered that I have help with all the stitching back together that is being done in my life right now and that I'm the one that gets to let people in or usher them out of my life and that just because people say something with authority doesn't mean it's true.
I remembered that right before a thunderstorm there is high tension in the air. It prickles your skin and you feel the electricity surging through the air. The tension increases to a point that it's almost unbearable until the skies open and rain falls down, thunder claps and lighting flashes. I remembered that the atmosphere purges itself of all of this and after there are skies of brilliant blue filled with cool breezes and new life.
I'm in the middle of an overwhelming thunderstorm right now. Far enough in that it's too late to stop, but still so far from the end you wonder if you'll ever see blue skies again.
But I know there will be blue skies again, I know there will be new life and cool breezes and some days I can even believe it.
But one year I decided to test him.
I told my parents and Santa's helpers at the malls what I wanted but I omitted one gift that I really wanted. A My Buddy (or Kid Sister) Doll.
I wrote a letter to Santa and stuck it in a mailbox one Saturday when no one was looking.
On Christmas morning I opened all of my gifts and there was no doll.
And I knew.
I knew the truth.
On another note I was terrified (and still am) of thunderstorms. They seem very end times ominous and it just seems that bad things are more likely to happen when the skies are raging. As a kid my parents would try to soothe me and reassure me so I wasn't so scared.
They told me that thunderstorms were God having a bowling party in Heaven. That the thunder was when someone got a strike and lighting was everyone taking pictures at the party.
What a fun God right?
Wrong.
I was even more upset and freaked out.
Because I was TERRIFIED and God was having a PARTY!?!?! What was that about?!
Now I was going to die and probably go to hell because God was BOWLING?
What.Ever
These are mostly funny anecdotes that I tell people because they are the funny ramblings of a weird kid. But I was telling the Santa story the other night and it occurred to me that these were sneak peeks at how I view relationships (and in a lot of ways how I have viewed humanity as a whole).
Untrustworthy.
Can't really count on them.
Will let you down.
Will forget you.
You don't matter.
Liars.
It made me really sad.
It made me sad to realize that beneath the silliness of these stories there seemed to be this little girl that was pretty convinced she'd be forgotten or overlooked in some way. There was a little girl that didn't trust she could believe in people and she had to sneak around and "trick" people into revealing the truth about themselves (or the lack of themselves as it were).
It made me sad too to realize that underneath all of my funny stories and anecdotes on life today that there's still a little girl trying to figure out if she'll be forgotten, overlooked and left yet again. That little girl still struggles with the idea that she has to "trick" people into showing who they really are because she suspects they aren't real.
I'm struggling between two very different realities in my head lately. The truth I know in my head and what I believe to be true in my heart.
I know the world isn't black and white.
I know that people aren't either good or bad.
I know that there are nuances to relationships that always make it work to remain close.
But I believe that the world is black and white. That there is a clear right and wrong. I believe that people are either good or bad that that relationships are either on or off.
I'm trying to stitch my heart back together and get it in line with my head. But some days I wake up and I've run out of thread and my needle has dulled.
Storms rolled through earlier this week and I was reminded once again of my fear of being forgotten and my fear of the bad and scary. Tossing and turning through the night I dreamt of people long dead and those I wished would just die already (as if that would really solve anything, but I'm an adolescent child and terrible person sometimes, sorry to break the news to you).
I woke hungover from the fears and paranoia surging through my heart. I looked out the window and I saw blue skies and was reminded.
I remembered that I am no longer a little girl that must submit herself to others authority just because they are bigger than me.
I remembered that even though Santa didn't come through for me I had parents that heard me telling the funny story and came through for me in the silliest and smallest way more than a decade later.
I remembered that God is a big God and he doesn't really throw bowling parties and forget about scared little girls.
I remembered that I have help with all the stitching back together that is being done in my life right now and that I'm the one that gets to let people in or usher them out of my life and that just because people say something with authority doesn't mean it's true.
I remembered that right before a thunderstorm there is high tension in the air. It prickles your skin and you feel the electricity surging through the air. The tension increases to a point that it's almost unbearable until the skies open and rain falls down, thunder claps and lighting flashes. I remembered that the atmosphere purges itself of all of this and after there are skies of brilliant blue filled with cool breezes and new life.
I'm in the middle of an overwhelming thunderstorm right now. Far enough in that it's too late to stop, but still so far from the end you wonder if you'll ever see blue skies again.
But I know there will be blue skies again, I know there will be new life and cool breezes and some days I can even believe it.
1.20.2011
Giggle Cereal
Last weekend I was scrolling through the IFC channel looking for a new show set in Portland that's starting soon. I had clicked on the channel and it was playing in a little square while I flipped.
As I was half watching while scrolling I started thinking about how the show looked familiar. So I watched a few minutes until I realized, with a jolt of panic and horror, that I knew what the movie was.
It's called The Gate
You will have to google the trailer, because I can't even link the trailer because I'm kind of a baby.
But I digress.
The point is, for years I've been trying to find this b-horror movie that I watched back in the early 90's. It scared the crap out of me, but I was SURE it existed. All I knew is it was about a brother and sister, home alone, when a gate to hell opened up and swallowed their house. I also had a clear image of a demon rising out of a pit in the middle of the living room to try and swallow the brother. (I know, creepy right!?)
But, guys, it was The Gate! I didn't make it up!
Nor did I watch it, because I would like to be able to sleep in 2011.
However, I was about 75% sure I had made it up. Because, it wouldn't be the first time I completely made up a product and believed it was real.
When I was a teenager I swear to you I saw a commercial for Giggle Cereal.
I STILL can see the actors in the commercial and the design of the box of the cereal.
An elementary school teacher had to step out of her classroom to speak to someone and while in the hallway kept hearing a ruckus in her room. When she walked back in the room the kids were all rolling around laughing and laughing and laughing.
The teacher giggled a little and said, "What did you all eat for breakfast?!
The kids replied in unison, "GIGGLE CEREAL!"
But I have never been able to prove the cereal (or marketing campaign) ever existed.
It wasn't the first time I believed a dream to be fact, but hopefully it's one of the last.
As I was half watching while scrolling I started thinking about how the show looked familiar. So I watched a few minutes until I realized, with a jolt of panic and horror, that I knew what the movie was.
It's called The Gate
You will have to google the trailer, because I can't even link the trailer because I'm kind of a baby.
But I digress.
The point is, for years I've been trying to find this b-horror movie that I watched back in the early 90's. It scared the crap out of me, but I was SURE it existed. All I knew is it was about a brother and sister, home alone, when a gate to hell opened up and swallowed their house. I also had a clear image of a demon rising out of a pit in the middle of the living room to try and swallow the brother. (I know, creepy right!?)
But, guys, it was The Gate! I didn't make it up!
Nor did I watch it, because I would like to be able to sleep in 2011.
However, I was about 75% sure I had made it up. Because, it wouldn't be the first time I completely made up a product and believed it was real.
When I was a teenager I swear to you I saw a commercial for Giggle Cereal.
I STILL can see the actors in the commercial and the design of the box of the cereal.
An elementary school teacher had to step out of her classroom to speak to someone and while in the hallway kept hearing a ruckus in her room. When she walked back in the room the kids were all rolling around laughing and laughing and laughing.
The teacher giggled a little and said, "What did you all eat for breakfast?!
The kids replied in unison, "GIGGLE CEREAL!"
But I have never been able to prove the cereal (or marketing campaign) ever existed.
It wasn't the first time I believed a dream to be fact, but hopefully it's one of the last.
12.20.2010
Sand Traps
Growing up there was an old picture framed hanging over the davenport (northerners call it a sofa I hear) at the farm.
I was told at one point it was a painting of "the old pond" that had since dried up. But since hardly anything I was told at the farm was true I suspected for a few years that it wasn't actually.
I was told that the pond I usually swam in, and lost my shoe in, was the "new pond". It was man made because the original "natural" pond had mostly dried up years before.
My grandfather would allow people to pay to fish in his pond and he would take the grandchildren out to fish with him too. I mostly played around the pond and removed fish lenses from their eyes once my cousins caught them, but I called it fishing... :)
I remember wandering away from the "new pond" while my grandfather was fishing one day. He was with a customer so my sisters, cousins and I wandered down a path and stumbled upon the "old pond". I was about 6 or 7 and had on burgundy hard shoes.
I remember because I left them there.
As we were climbing around the mucky bottom of the old pond I started sinking. I got stuck and couldn't get out. My cousins and sister created a chain and tried to pull me out, I think there was a really long stick involved. But I was stuck and stuck good. By the end I was almost up to my waist in muck. (although in my memory it was actually quick sand)
My cousins ran up to the new pond and seeing that our grandfather was still in the middle of the pond with his customer they ran up to the house for their dad and mine. They came chugging back and I was pulled to freedom. Finally!
At least, I think that's what happened. I'm told it never happened. I'm told I WAS caught in the muck in the general vicinity of the pond and that there WAS an old pond that had dried up on the property but it had dried up and grass had grown over it when my grandparents filled it in with the dirt from the man made pond.
But in my head, I once almost died sinking into quick sand and there's nothing you can do to talk me out of it dammit.
(small aside: years...and I mean YEARS...later the painting hung in my living room over my sofa. I told the story above to Dan about the old pond and he laughed for an obnoxiously long time. I asked him why he was laughing and he pointed out the WAVES cresting in the picture and the CLIFFS in the background and asked me how I could wonder if it was really a pond since most ponds don't have either cliffs or waves..but whatever I digress)
I was told at one point it was a painting of "the old pond" that had since dried up. But since hardly anything I was told at the farm was true I suspected for a few years that it wasn't actually.
I was told that the pond I usually swam in, and lost my shoe in, was the "new pond". It was man made because the original "natural" pond had mostly dried up years before.
My grandfather would allow people to pay to fish in his pond and he would take the grandchildren out to fish with him too. I mostly played around the pond and removed fish lenses from their eyes once my cousins caught them, but I called it fishing... :)
I remember wandering away from the "new pond" while my grandfather was fishing one day. He was with a customer so my sisters, cousins and I wandered down a path and stumbled upon the "old pond". I was about 6 or 7 and had on burgundy hard shoes.
I remember because I left them there.
As we were climbing around the mucky bottom of the old pond I started sinking. I got stuck and couldn't get out. My cousins and sister created a chain and tried to pull me out, I think there was a really long stick involved. But I was stuck and stuck good. By the end I was almost up to my waist in muck. (although in my memory it was actually quick sand)
My cousins ran up to the new pond and seeing that our grandfather was still in the middle of the pond with his customer they ran up to the house for their dad and mine. They came chugging back and I was pulled to freedom. Finally!
At least, I think that's what happened. I'm told it never happened. I'm told I WAS caught in the muck in the general vicinity of the pond and that there WAS an old pond that had dried up on the property but it had dried up and grass had grown over it when my grandparents filled it in with the dirt from the man made pond.
But in my head, I once almost died sinking into quick sand and there's nothing you can do to talk me out of it dammit.
(small aside: years...and I mean YEARS...later the painting hung in my living room over my sofa. I told the story above to Dan about the old pond and he laughed for an obnoxiously long time. I asked him why he was laughing and he pointed out the WAVES cresting in the picture and the CLIFFS in the background and asked me how I could wonder if it was really a pond since most ponds don't have either cliffs or waves..but whatever I digress)
11.04.2010
Plot from Law & Order SVU
When I first moved to Cincinnati I got a job at a Christian book store. It was interesting to see this sample of people that shopped there, and often shopped there daily. I met a lot of really sweet people, I met a lot of grumpy and out right mean people and I met one specifically creepy person.
I'd seen Terry (names have been changed to protect the creepy) in the store several times. He always shopped with his mom who was a little spacey. Oh, and did I mention he was probably in his 60s or 70s, because he was.
He would always buy an odd smattering of things and would talk about movies and music. It wasn't creepy at first, just off feeling.
Then one day the book store started selling ACTUAL crowns of thorns.
In one sense it was kind of neat to think of churches having it on a table presenting communion, but in another sense IT WAS AN ACTUAL CROWN OF THORNS.
But I digress....
Terry began talking to me excitedly about the movie Passion of the Christ by Mel Gibson. It was being re-released into some theaters around Cincinnati and he was excited to see it again. He also began buying up the crowns of thorns.
One day, while purchasing his THIRD crown of thorns (which I was convinced by this time he used on unsuspecting coed he abducted from local campuses) he mentioned again how excited he was about Passion being re-released. He then said, "You know, you should come with me to see it. That would be fun."
(Fun...wasn't exactly the word I was thinking of...)
I said no.
He came back a few days later, bought ANOTHER crown of thorns (I mean these suckers were like $50, why did he need them all?! I was to afraid to ask.) and asked me again.
I said no.
The next time he came in I had the night off and he started asking for me. He tried to get my home phone number from the other employees who thankfully didn't give it to him.
Shortly after this I transferred to another store and was able to shake him for good.
But what part of this story doesn't smack of a plot on Law & Order SVU?
I'd seen Terry (names have been changed to protect the creepy) in the store several times. He always shopped with his mom who was a little spacey. Oh, and did I mention he was probably in his 60s or 70s, because he was.
He would always buy an odd smattering of things and would talk about movies and music. It wasn't creepy at first, just off feeling.
Then one day the book store started selling ACTUAL crowns of thorns.
In one sense it was kind of neat to think of churches having it on a table presenting communion, but in another sense IT WAS AN ACTUAL CROWN OF THORNS.
But I digress....
Terry began talking to me excitedly about the movie Passion of the Christ by Mel Gibson. It was being re-released into some theaters around Cincinnati and he was excited to see it again. He also began buying up the crowns of thorns.
One day, while purchasing his THIRD crown of thorns (which I was convinced by this time he used on unsuspecting coed he abducted from local campuses) he mentioned again how excited he was about Passion being re-released. He then said, "You know, you should come with me to see it. That would be fun."
(Fun...wasn't exactly the word I was thinking of...)
I said no.
He came back a few days later, bought ANOTHER crown of thorns (I mean these suckers were like $50, why did he need them all?! I was to afraid to ask.) and asked me again.
I said no.
The next time he came in I had the night off and he started asking for me. He tried to get my home phone number from the other employees who thankfully didn't give it to him.
Shortly after this I transferred to another store and was able to shake him for good.
But what part of this story doesn't smack of a plot on Law & Order SVU?
10.15.2010
Mirror Glasses
When I was young my parents bought my seester and I a spy kit. At least, I'm fairly certain that's what it was.
We had stickers with fingerprints on them (in fact I still have a juice glass with a fingerprint sticker on the side of it), little cardboard tubes for looking around corners and some wicked awesome sunglasses that had mirrors on the sides of them.
When I say mirrors on the side I don't mean like sticking out the side, I mean that on the inside outer edges of each of the lenses was a mirrored coating that you could see what was happening beside you just by looking at that portion of the lens.
I wore them all the time. (Perhaps the first signs of what has become my intense paranoia in regards to killers)
But you know, eventually I started running into things. Because I was so enamored with what was behind me that I forgot I needed to look forward.
I was telling that story half jokingly to some co-workers the other day when I felt like I was hit upside the head. Because I've been running into things a lot lately.
I'm staring behind me so much, I've become so enamored with how things are or were that I'm not looking forward with intentionality to what could be coming up in the future.
It's not the first time I've been smacked upside the head with that thought.
My natural default is to remain lost in memories, what ifs and way back whens. The future has always been very scary to me and I tend to not dream or acknowledge the dreams that thrust themselves on me because to move forward is so terrifying.
But little by little I'm learning to stop gazing longingly in the mirror showing me what has passed and is no longer. Little by little I'm learning to skirt the edges of the pit instead of swan diving into the muck and mire.
I take a several tentative steps forward then a giant leap back.
But I'm looking forward for the first time that I can really remember.
We had stickers with fingerprints on them (in fact I still have a juice glass with a fingerprint sticker on the side of it), little cardboard tubes for looking around corners and some wicked awesome sunglasses that had mirrors on the sides of them.
When I say mirrors on the side I don't mean like sticking out the side, I mean that on the inside outer edges of each of the lenses was a mirrored coating that you could see what was happening beside you just by looking at that portion of the lens.
I wore them all the time. (Perhaps the first signs of what has become my intense paranoia in regards to killers)
But you know, eventually I started running into things. Because I was so enamored with what was behind me that I forgot I needed to look forward.
I was telling that story half jokingly to some co-workers the other day when I felt like I was hit upside the head. Because I've been running into things a lot lately.
I'm staring behind me so much, I've become so enamored with how things are or were that I'm not looking forward with intentionality to what could be coming up in the future.
It's not the first time I've been smacked upside the head with that thought.
My natural default is to remain lost in memories, what ifs and way back whens. The future has always been very scary to me and I tend to not dream or acknowledge the dreams that thrust themselves on me because to move forward is so terrifying.
But little by little I'm learning to stop gazing longingly in the mirror showing me what has passed and is no longer. Little by little I'm learning to skirt the edges of the pit instead of swan diving into the muck and mire.
I take a several tentative steps forward then a giant leap back.
But I'm looking forward for the first time that I can really remember.
8.19.2010
Right Foot
In October 1998, a little over 6 months after I broke my left foot I was back in school in Youngstown and friends with a girl who lived across the hall my freshman year named Megan.
Megan had moved out the year before and was living in an apartment on top of a funeral home across the street from our dorms.
One night she had a party. There were adult beverages. There was a wheelchair she stole from a K-Mart. Heck, K-Marts still existed in most towns!
I was joyriding back and forth in the wheelchair and curbed it pretty hard, breaking it. Whoops.
A few hours and several drinks later I walked upstairs through the main area of the funeral home and into the apartment to get more jello shots out of the fridge. In the apartment I ran into a girl I sort of knew, but you know...I'd had a few drinks and everyone was my best friend.
She just got into nursing school and was super excited. Around 1130pm I grabbed 6 jello shots, grape and cherry, and started walking down the stairs with her asking her about school.
Then, when I was two steps from the bottom I thought I was really only one step from the bottom and I skipped a step. Down I fell jello shots flung in what seemed like slow motion through the air and my right foot twisted and I landed on the inside of it crunching the outside.
It might have been the pain, it was probably the alcohol but I immediately began to dry heave and felt wetness all over my bottom.
Nursing School girl ran for a trash can and Megan came up the stairs to see what happened. After ralphing into the trash can a few times I asked someone to go get Alaina from our room across the hall and to have her bring my car keys.
I stood up and told nursing school girl I thought I pee'd my pants. She looked at my bottom and burst out laughing. What?!! What!?!??? I asked. She said, you didn't pee, you landed on the jello shots.
Apparently I had purple and red splats all over my tan pants covered bottom.
I hobbled down the stairs and onto the porch where everyone else at the party was regaled with the tale of my clumsiness. We lamented the broken wheelchair that would have been best suited to take me to the parking lot where my car was parked.
Alaina came, laughed and then we got in my car and went to the nearest hospital. The nearest hospital being the one in the middle of the ghetto since our university was on the edge of the bad part of town. I was busy trying to sober up, seeing as I wasn't actually permitted to consume adult beverages legally....
Alaina dropped me at the ER door, I hobbled in, checked in and crawled into a wheel chair to prop my foot up. In the mean time Alaina left the hospital and went to a store to buy me some saltine crackers (I think, people at the party might have sent them with us, I can't quite remember).
The inner city ER was fascinating. There was one very very drunk and alternately belligerent and slap happy man wandering about. He wandered over to me and said, "Whassamatterwitchu?" I told him I think I broke my foot. He pointed to my right foot and said, "Thissun?" I replied yes. So naturally, he grabbed my newly broken foot and said, "When chu get betta, you runna one for da gipper!"
I had no idea who or what the gipper was, and I didn't ask for fear he would start shaking and squeezing my foot again. (Someone later told me the gipper is apparently Ronald Reagan)
About two in the morning I was taken back and put in a room.
About five after two in the morning I was taken out of the room and pushed (literally pushed then let go to roll freely) across the hall where I came to rest by a hazardous material waste bin because a drive by had rolled in and they had more critical patients.
But all that was ok with me, because it gave the saltines time to kick in.
Finally about 430 in the morning we were released and I had a partial cast running up my whole calf with an ace bandage wrapped around it and crutches to walk on. It was the exact same break as the left foot, just on the other foot. But the hospital was all out of air casts and I needed to go to my family doctor for one of those.
Since my parents are early risers I called them when I got back to our dorm room about 6am. I told them what happened and that I needed an air cast boot thing just like before but they can be used on either foot.
My dad said, "Shit! I JUST threw the boot away"
So he bought another one, for another $400.
To this day, that man still has the boot in his attic and he's fairly certain that's why I haven't broken a foot since.
Megan had moved out the year before and was living in an apartment on top of a funeral home across the street from our dorms.
One night she had a party. There were adult beverages. There was a wheelchair she stole from a K-Mart. Heck, K-Marts still existed in most towns!
I was joyriding back and forth in the wheelchair and curbed it pretty hard, breaking it. Whoops.
A few hours and several drinks later I walked upstairs through the main area of the funeral home and into the apartment to get more jello shots out of the fridge. In the apartment I ran into a girl I sort of knew, but you know...I'd had a few drinks and everyone was my best friend.
She just got into nursing school and was super excited. Around 1130pm I grabbed 6 jello shots, grape and cherry, and started walking down the stairs with her asking her about school.
Then, when I was two steps from the bottom I thought I was really only one step from the bottom and I skipped a step. Down I fell jello shots flung in what seemed like slow motion through the air and my right foot twisted and I landed on the inside of it crunching the outside.
It might have been the pain, it was probably the alcohol but I immediately began to dry heave and felt wetness all over my bottom.
Nursing School girl ran for a trash can and Megan came up the stairs to see what happened. After ralphing into the trash can a few times I asked someone to go get Alaina from our room across the hall and to have her bring my car keys.
I stood up and told nursing school girl I thought I pee'd my pants. She looked at my bottom and burst out laughing. What?!! What!?!??? I asked. She said, you didn't pee, you landed on the jello shots.
Apparently I had purple and red splats all over my tan pants covered bottom.
I hobbled down the stairs and onto the porch where everyone else at the party was regaled with the tale of my clumsiness. We lamented the broken wheelchair that would have been best suited to take me to the parking lot where my car was parked.
Alaina came, laughed and then we got in my car and went to the nearest hospital. The nearest hospital being the one in the middle of the ghetto since our university was on the edge of the bad part of town. I was busy trying to sober up, seeing as I wasn't actually permitted to consume adult beverages legally....
Alaina dropped me at the ER door, I hobbled in, checked in and crawled into a wheel chair to prop my foot up. In the mean time Alaina left the hospital and went to a store to buy me some saltine crackers (I think, people at the party might have sent them with us, I can't quite remember).
The inner city ER was fascinating. There was one very very drunk and alternately belligerent and slap happy man wandering about. He wandered over to me and said, "Whassamatterwitchu?" I told him I think I broke my foot. He pointed to my right foot and said, "Thissun?" I replied yes. So naturally, he grabbed my newly broken foot and said, "When chu get betta, you runna one for da gipper!"
I had no idea who or what the gipper was, and I didn't ask for fear he would start shaking and squeezing my foot again. (Someone later told me the gipper is apparently Ronald Reagan)
About two in the morning I was taken back and put in a room.
About five after two in the morning I was taken out of the room and pushed (literally pushed then let go to roll freely) across the hall where I came to rest by a hazardous material waste bin because a drive by had rolled in and they had more critical patients.
But all that was ok with me, because it gave the saltines time to kick in.
Finally about 430 in the morning we were released and I had a partial cast running up my whole calf with an ace bandage wrapped around it and crutches to walk on. It was the exact same break as the left foot, just on the other foot. But the hospital was all out of air casts and I needed to go to my family doctor for one of those.
Since my parents are early risers I called them when I got back to our dorm room about 6am. I told them what happened and that I needed an air cast boot thing just like before but they can be used on either foot.
My dad said, "Shit! I JUST threw the boot away"
So he bought another one, for another $400.
To this day, that man still has the boot in his attic and he's fairly certain that's why I haven't broken a foot since.
8.18.2010
Left Foot
In February of 1998 I had a boyfriend, my dad was in India and it was the day before Valentine's Day.
Some friends came over to hang out since I was home from college for the weekend and we decided to go out to shop and buy my boyfriend a gift.
As we were leaving my mom came to the door and asked me a question. I can't remember what it was, but I paused on the threshold talking to her.
For absolutely no reason my left foot turned out from under me and fell off the doorstep onto the front porch. I lost my balance and fell with my bottom landing on the inside of my foot and crunching the outside.
I just sat there shocked and slightly nauseous because my foot hurt.
But my mom said it was probably just a sprain and to shake it off. I had never broken anything before and it wasn't terrible so I figured she was probably right. I did still need a gift for boyfriend so I hobbled to the car, got in and drove to the neighboring town with my friends.
Three hours and many many shops and food places later we were in Dairy Queen and I was feeling really nauseous and in a lot more pain. I told them I needed to go home because my sprained foot really hurt.
Home I went. To sleep I went.
When I woke up the next morning I went into the kitchen and told my mom about my foot. I sat down, she called our neighbor who was (and is) a physical therapist. He said to soak it in ice ice ice cold water. I removed my sock, we both gasped at my now black foot that swelled to twice its size in front of our eyes.
After an hour of water torture, I mean I was fairly certain I was going to pass out, the neighbor said it might be broken and I should go to the hospital.
My mom was anxious, because my dad was scheduled to come home that day and he had been gone for nearly a month. I'm fairly certain it was the longest they'd been separated the whole time they'd been married.
But off the the ER we go. We had to wait for the x-ray, then we got the x-ray. We weren't getting it read there, we were going to some dudes house (the one with the hot son) so he could read it later.
However, it was getting late and my mom needed to go get ready to pick my dad up from the airport. So she left me at the hospital popping wheelies in a deserted hallway.
Ok, not exactly. She called my Gma and told her I would be waiting in the ER waiting room for her to pick me up and take me home.
Home I went and when mom was done getting ready she ran me to the doctors house who said, yep, it's broken and either wrote me a prescription for an air cast or just told us to go to a local pharmacy/medical supply store and buy one.
An hour later I was home and mom was jetting off to the airport.
It took my foot almost 5 months to heal because what was probably just a hairline fracture became a complete break thanks to my walking around on it (and maybe going to boyfriends junior (yes junior, I liked em young) prom in heals without my air cast). But finally, FINALLY after 5 long months I was able to be completely free of the air cast and walk around like a normal person.
For at least another month or so......
Some friends came over to hang out since I was home from college for the weekend and we decided to go out to shop and buy my boyfriend a gift.
As we were leaving my mom came to the door and asked me a question. I can't remember what it was, but I paused on the threshold talking to her.
For absolutely no reason my left foot turned out from under me and fell off the doorstep onto the front porch. I lost my balance and fell with my bottom landing on the inside of my foot and crunching the outside.
I just sat there shocked and slightly nauseous because my foot hurt.
But my mom said it was probably just a sprain and to shake it off. I had never broken anything before and it wasn't terrible so I figured she was probably right. I did still need a gift for boyfriend so I hobbled to the car, got in and drove to the neighboring town with my friends.
Three hours and many many shops and food places later we were in Dairy Queen and I was feeling really nauseous and in a lot more pain. I told them I needed to go home because my sprained foot really hurt.
Home I went. To sleep I went.
When I woke up the next morning I went into the kitchen and told my mom about my foot. I sat down, she called our neighbor who was (and is) a physical therapist. He said to soak it in ice ice ice cold water. I removed my sock, we both gasped at my now black foot that swelled to twice its size in front of our eyes.
After an hour of water torture, I mean I was fairly certain I was going to pass out, the neighbor said it might be broken and I should go to the hospital.
My mom was anxious, because my dad was scheduled to come home that day and he had been gone for nearly a month. I'm fairly certain it was the longest they'd been separated the whole time they'd been married.
But off the the ER we go. We had to wait for the x-ray, then we got the x-ray. We weren't getting it read there, we were going to some dudes house (the one with the hot son) so he could read it later.
However, it was getting late and my mom needed to go get ready to pick my dad up from the airport. So she left me at the hospital popping wheelies in a deserted hallway.
Ok, not exactly. She called my Gma and told her I would be waiting in the ER waiting room for her to pick me up and take me home.
Home I went and when mom was done getting ready she ran me to the doctors house who said, yep, it's broken and either wrote me a prescription for an air cast or just told us to go to a local pharmacy/medical supply store and buy one.
An hour later I was home and mom was jetting off to the airport.
It took my foot almost 5 months to heal because what was probably just a hairline fracture became a complete break thanks to my walking around on it (and maybe going to boyfriends junior (yes junior, I liked em young) prom in heals without my air cast). But finally, FINALLY after 5 long months I was able to be completely free of the air cast and walk around like a normal person.
For at least another month or so......
8.11.2010
Chocolate
"Chocolate's a fun word, no ones feelings were ever hurt by the word chocolate"
That's what she said when I was in her office.
I knew I had been bothering my co-workers. Part of it was my hyper talkative, lonely and obnoxious self. But part of it was because I asked one of my coworkers to stop talking to me about the affair she was having and the other about the pot she was smoking.
I knew I bothered my boss because she was an angry woman that wore the same shirt in different colors every day and wasn't being promoted any higher than she already was and somehow this was my fault.
But, I just couldn't believe that she just said that.
I had been pulled into her office and told that I annoyed my coworkers and they would prefer that I just not speak at work anymore. Even about work things they could barely stand to hear the sound of my voice I was so annoying. So they all got together and decided it would be best if I just didn't speak anymore.
My boss said that probably wasn't possible seeing as I needed to speak on the phone for a living. She came up with this brilliant plan. They all agreed on a code word.
Chocolate.
When I got to be to much, when I was to annoying and when one of my coworkers would feel like I should just shut up already they would sing song out the word chocolate. That would be my cue to not speak for the rest of the day unless I had to answer my phone.
Because chocolate is a fun word, no one's feelings were ever hurt by the word chocolate.
Furthermore, she felt it would only be appropriate for me to write letters of apology to my coworkers for the trials I put them through by being so annoying. I would be required to apologize specifically to the two aforementioned coworkers because I had made them feel terribly about their life choices.
We would begin as soon as I left her office. I sat there gaping at this woman with nails the color of nicotine and struggled to find my voice.
How do you respond to this?
Somehow, I found the courage to say, "Well let me take this to the HR Rep and if she's ok with it then we can put it in my file"
My boss said, "Oh, well it was just a suggestion you don't have to do it. Go back to your desk and get back to work"
Two years I worked in that environment.
About 6 months in I got saved and immediately began to beg and plead with God to remove me from that situation. I applied at other jobs, I knew I had heard God tell me I would be moving to Cincinnati but He didn't tell me when. I would cry on my way to work some days because I just couldn't take listening to my coworkers talk around me and act like I was invisible sometimes.
But I learned to start finding my voice in that time.
I learned it was needed for me to start learning how to stand up for myself and that just because someone has the balls to say something to me doesn't mean it's true.
Thankfully this experience didn't ruin chocolate for me, because that would have been a real travesty.
That's what she said when I was in her office.
I knew I had been bothering my co-workers. Part of it was my hyper talkative, lonely and obnoxious self. But part of it was because I asked one of my coworkers to stop talking to me about the affair she was having and the other about the pot she was smoking.
I knew I bothered my boss because she was an angry woman that wore the same shirt in different colors every day and wasn't being promoted any higher than she already was and somehow this was my fault.
But, I just couldn't believe that she just said that.
I had been pulled into her office and told that I annoyed my coworkers and they would prefer that I just not speak at work anymore. Even about work things they could barely stand to hear the sound of my voice I was so annoying. So they all got together and decided it would be best if I just didn't speak anymore.
My boss said that probably wasn't possible seeing as I needed to speak on the phone for a living. She came up with this brilliant plan. They all agreed on a code word.
Chocolate.
When I got to be to much, when I was to annoying and when one of my coworkers would feel like I should just shut up already they would sing song out the word chocolate. That would be my cue to not speak for the rest of the day unless I had to answer my phone.
Because chocolate is a fun word, no one's feelings were ever hurt by the word chocolate.
Furthermore, she felt it would only be appropriate for me to write letters of apology to my coworkers for the trials I put them through by being so annoying. I would be required to apologize specifically to the two aforementioned coworkers because I had made them feel terribly about their life choices.
We would begin as soon as I left her office. I sat there gaping at this woman with nails the color of nicotine and struggled to find my voice.
How do you respond to this?
Somehow, I found the courage to say, "Well let me take this to the HR Rep and if she's ok with it then we can put it in my file"
My boss said, "Oh, well it was just a suggestion you don't have to do it. Go back to your desk and get back to work"
Two years I worked in that environment.
About 6 months in I got saved and immediately began to beg and plead with God to remove me from that situation. I applied at other jobs, I knew I had heard God tell me I would be moving to Cincinnati but He didn't tell me when. I would cry on my way to work some days because I just couldn't take listening to my coworkers talk around me and act like I was invisible sometimes.
But I learned to start finding my voice in that time.
I learned it was needed for me to start learning how to stand up for myself and that just because someone has the balls to say something to me doesn't mean it's true.
Thankfully this experience didn't ruin chocolate for me, because that would have been a real travesty.
8.10.2010
White Out Tape
I've told you before about the first date where I told the fella turtles could breathe out of their butt.
But here's how we flirted.
We worked for the same bank and I would talk to him in my "boy voice" (see high pitched and breathy with a lot of unnecessary giggling) and my co-workers would make fun of me.
Well, one day he was talking about how his white out tape was broken and he was trying to fix it.
What is white out tape? I couldn't figure it out. I would ask him and he would describe it but I couldn't figure it out.
I would usually bring it up when I didn't know what else to say and it would keep the conversation going (I'm a nerd, I get it.)
Then one day I received an inter-office envelope. This wasn't unusual I got them a lot as part of my job. But I opened it and out fell 4 packs of white out tape.
But here's how we flirted.
We worked for the same bank and I would talk to him in my "boy voice" (see high pitched and breathy with a lot of unnecessary giggling) and my co-workers would make fun of me.
Well, one day he was talking about how his white out tape was broken and he was trying to fix it.
What is white out tape? I couldn't figure it out. I would ask him and he would describe it but I couldn't figure it out.
I would usually bring it up when I didn't know what else to say and it would keep the conversation going (I'm a nerd, I get it.)
Then one day I received an inter-office envelope. This wasn't unusual I got them a lot as part of my job. But I opened it and out fell 4 packs of white out tape.
There was also a lovely note about white out tape and all sorts of other things. I of course had to reply and agonized over it for a ridiculously long time before I could sent the reply email.
I mean, a relationship based on a mutual admiration of white out tape...how could it have gone so horribly wrong?
So even though I talked about poop and tutles butts on our date I still think of him and smile when I see white out tape...which is often, I work in an office.
8.09.2010
A Car Like That
When I first moved to Cincinnati I transferred within the bank I was working at. I split my time between two banking centers and was a regular old teller with a connection to the area manager.
Before I was a teller I worked in teller corrections and fixed/researched teller errors. So as a teller it was difficult for me to not try to be helpful when I saw other tellers making mistakes (which I would also inevitably make).
But because of my connection to the area manager they decided I was a tattle tale.
During the summer 4 people were fired. I had nothing to do with it, I promise. I didn't "tell" I didn't even know this stuff was happening. But the other tellers decided it was so.
The one banking center decided to call a meeting after the manager was fired for nefarious activity and the team leader was on vacation, so there was no one in charge. Just the other tellers the private bankers and me in a meeting in a dark banking center after close.
One by one they lined up and took turns telling me what was wrong with me. They told me I was ugly, fat, stupid, mean. They wondered why I thought I was so much better than them, they asked me why I was such a f**king b**ch and thought I could play with peoples lives.
I protested. I tried to tell them that it wasn't me, that I didn't know what the manager was doing and I certainly didn't turn her in. I tried to tell them I was just trying to make it through the summer. But they wouldn't relent, they wouldn't stop telling me why I was so awful.
I tried to gather my purse and leave, but they circled around me and just kept taunting me.
Finally I relented. I told them I agreed that I was terrible and didn't deserve to live. I told them I would quit and never come back.
But I didn't cry. Because crying is weak and I was terrified to show them they were affecting me.
They let me out. I called the area manager on my way home and told her I didn't want to go back to that banking center for the rest of the summer, which thankfully was only about another 2 weeks. She asked me why, I told her it was the commute. She agreed.
The other morning I was driving to work and I got behind a car that the banking center manager drove. The whole time I just kept wondering, if she really took all that money why was she driving a car like that? I thought about her driving this car that wasn't that nice and I thought about all those tellers in that dark banking center.
Only this time, I didn't believe them completely.
Before I was a teller I worked in teller corrections and fixed/researched teller errors. So as a teller it was difficult for me to not try to be helpful when I saw other tellers making mistakes (which I would also inevitably make).
But because of my connection to the area manager they decided I was a tattle tale.
During the summer 4 people were fired. I had nothing to do with it, I promise. I didn't "tell" I didn't even know this stuff was happening. But the other tellers decided it was so.
The one banking center decided to call a meeting after the manager was fired for nefarious activity and the team leader was on vacation, so there was no one in charge. Just the other tellers the private bankers and me in a meeting in a dark banking center after close.
One by one they lined up and took turns telling me what was wrong with me. They told me I was ugly, fat, stupid, mean. They wondered why I thought I was so much better than them, they asked me why I was such a f**king b**ch and thought I could play with peoples lives.
I protested. I tried to tell them that it wasn't me, that I didn't know what the manager was doing and I certainly didn't turn her in. I tried to tell them I was just trying to make it through the summer. But they wouldn't relent, they wouldn't stop telling me why I was so awful.
I tried to gather my purse and leave, but they circled around me and just kept taunting me.
Finally I relented. I told them I agreed that I was terrible and didn't deserve to live. I told them I would quit and never come back.
But I didn't cry. Because crying is weak and I was terrified to show them they were affecting me.
They let me out. I called the area manager on my way home and told her I didn't want to go back to that banking center for the rest of the summer, which thankfully was only about another 2 weeks. She asked me why, I told her it was the commute. She agreed.
The other morning I was driving to work and I got behind a car that the banking center manager drove. The whole time I just kept wondering, if she really took all that money why was she driving a car like that? I thought about her driving this car that wasn't that nice and I thought about all those tellers in that dark banking center.
Only this time, I didn't believe them completely.
4.07.2010
Orange Eyes
I am a champion toilet paperer.
If you grew up in the city then you might not understand what I'm talking about. I'm talking about the youthful right of passage of wandering the streets at night armed with toilet paper and then flinging it over the trees in your friends/enemies yards.
Some kids also forked and used shaving cream. I never did. My parents let us toilet paper as long as we didn't fork or use shaving cream. My mom even drove the gettaway car on numerous occasions.
I'm sure there was some vadalism rule about toilet papering but as far as I knew, when I was a kid, the only rule was if you got caught you had to help clean it up.
I was never.ever.caught.
In....1994 (I think) my parents let a French exchange student come live with us. It was August and my seester was away at Ohio State Fair Band. He was with us for the whole month and we had a lot of fun with him. One time he asked my parents how they got me to stop talking (I know, it's very surprising that I talked a lot back then). Dad told him they just whacked me on the forehead with the dull end of a table knife. A few days later we were at a restaurant eating and apparently I was talking to much because Xavier (the frenchie) calmly picked up his butter knife, blade in hand, and whacked me on the forehead.
Yep, that's the kind of 30 days it was.
At some point during that 30 days I mentioned toilet papering and Xavier just didn't get it; much like the French didn't understand Jell-O I found out later. I decided to show him. My boyfriend at the time was staying at his friends house a few miles down the road from me and we decided that would be the perfect night. Mom drove us to Millers to stock up on TP, Karen from a few houses down came over and the 4 of us set out. Boyfriends friend was named David and his house had a line of trees across the front of his property. That will be important information in a few minutes.
My mom turned around and parked on the side of the country road and turned off all the lights. It wasn't terribly late, maybe midnight or 1am, which was our first mistake. We were out of the car and flinging toilet paper around, trying to show Xavier how to successfully throw and unroll at the same time.
We spread out around the sides and tried not to giggle to loudly. As I rounded the back of the house I glanced in a window. I saw boyfriend and David standing there looking around. I froze. They looked out the window and saw me standing in the moonlight.
Almost in slow motion I saw them turn to run outside and I turned just as slowly it seemed while suddenly screaming, "Ruuuuuuuuuuuuuuunnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn!!!!!!!"
Karen snagged Xavier by the arm and I ran around my side of the house making a break for the car. I heard the house door slam and boyfriend and David shouting furiously. We all crashed through the tree line towards the getaway car. I glanced back briefly and then turned to speed up towards the car.
When I turned around I felt a smack in the face and saw a bright pop of white light. I brushed at my face and dove towards the car. Xavier and Karen were already inside and I turned to my mom screaming "GO GO GO!" As she peeled out from the side of the road she started shouting my name. "WHAT?!" I finally yelled back. "Your EYE!"
I flipped down the mirror and saw that I had blood streaming out the corner of my eye (by my nose) like tears.
Apparently the thing that slapped my face was a stick and by slapped my face I apparently mean it inserted itself into my eye.
We went back home and to Karens house a few houses down. Her aunt that she lived with was a nurse and saw I had tree bark in my eye and was afraid it would be scratched.
I had mom call Nicole, whose mom was an ER nurse at the time. They told me to take out my contact and come to the ER. Mom left Karen at her house and drove Xavier and I to the ER.
The whole way there Xavier told me how something just like this happened to his brother ("why do you speak of him?") and the doctor had to put a need ---> <------- this big (imagine him holding his hand farther apart then my head was deep) with no numbing medicine to fix his eye. Ughtastic.
Nicole's mom was working at the ER and when we went in she helped the doctor. They put numbing drops in my eye and they used a special light to look in and see if it was scratched at all. The eye wasn't scratched but there was a heck of a lot of bark in there. Their special drops made my eye glow orange under their special light and the pieces of tree were darker, so they knew what to pull out. After what felt like forever they pulled out all the bark and I was back to normal. Sort of.
They made me wear an eye patch. AN.EYE.PATCH.
Ughfreakintastic.
Even worse, I was working at a farm market with a boy that I had a crush on. I didn't even get one of the cool leathery bedazzled eye patches. Mine was tan, totally bland and not a bedazzled bead to be found.
The pirate jokes were the worst part. Thank God it was August and school hadn't started yet.
If you grew up in the city then you might not understand what I'm talking about. I'm talking about the youthful right of passage of wandering the streets at night armed with toilet paper and then flinging it over the trees in your friends/enemies yards.
Some kids also forked and used shaving cream. I never did. My parents let us toilet paper as long as we didn't fork or use shaving cream. My mom even drove the gettaway car on numerous occasions.
I'm sure there was some vadalism rule about toilet papering but as far as I knew, when I was a kid, the only rule was if you got caught you had to help clean it up.
I was never.ever.caught.
In....1994 (I think) my parents let a French exchange student come live with us. It was August and my seester was away at Ohio State Fair Band. He was with us for the whole month and we had a lot of fun with him. One time he asked my parents how they got me to stop talking (I know, it's very surprising that I talked a lot back then). Dad told him they just whacked me on the forehead with the dull end of a table knife. A few days later we were at a restaurant eating and apparently I was talking to much because Xavier (the frenchie) calmly picked up his butter knife, blade in hand, and whacked me on the forehead.
Yep, that's the kind of 30 days it was.
At some point during that 30 days I mentioned toilet papering and Xavier just didn't get it; much like the French didn't understand Jell-O I found out later. I decided to show him. My boyfriend at the time was staying at his friends house a few miles down the road from me and we decided that would be the perfect night. Mom drove us to Millers to stock up on TP, Karen from a few houses down came over and the 4 of us set out. Boyfriends friend was named David and his house had a line of trees across the front of his property. That will be important information in a few minutes.
My mom turned around and parked on the side of the country road and turned off all the lights. It wasn't terribly late, maybe midnight or 1am, which was our first mistake. We were out of the car and flinging toilet paper around, trying to show Xavier how to successfully throw and unroll at the same time.
We spread out around the sides and tried not to giggle to loudly. As I rounded the back of the house I glanced in a window. I saw boyfriend and David standing there looking around. I froze. They looked out the window and saw me standing in the moonlight.
Almost in slow motion I saw them turn to run outside and I turned just as slowly it seemed while suddenly screaming, "Ruuuuuuuuuuuuuuunnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn!!!!!!!"
Karen snagged Xavier by the arm and I ran around my side of the house making a break for the car. I heard the house door slam and boyfriend and David shouting furiously. We all crashed through the tree line towards the getaway car. I glanced back briefly and then turned to speed up towards the car.
When I turned around I felt a smack in the face and saw a bright pop of white light. I brushed at my face and dove towards the car. Xavier and Karen were already inside and I turned to my mom screaming "GO GO GO!" As she peeled out from the side of the road she started shouting my name. "WHAT?!" I finally yelled back. "Your EYE!"
I flipped down the mirror and saw that I had blood streaming out the corner of my eye (by my nose) like tears.
Apparently the thing that slapped my face was a stick and by slapped my face I apparently mean it inserted itself into my eye.
We went back home and to Karens house a few houses down. Her aunt that she lived with was a nurse and saw I had tree bark in my eye and was afraid it would be scratched.
I had mom call Nicole, whose mom was an ER nurse at the time. They told me to take out my contact and come to the ER. Mom left Karen at her house and drove Xavier and I to the ER.
The whole way there Xavier told me how something just like this happened to his brother ("why do you speak of him?") and the doctor had to put a need ---> <------- this big (imagine him holding his hand farther apart then my head was deep) with no numbing medicine to fix his eye. Ughtastic.
Nicole's mom was working at the ER and when we went in she helped the doctor. They put numbing drops in my eye and they used a special light to look in and see if it was scratched at all. The eye wasn't scratched but there was a heck of a lot of bark in there. Their special drops made my eye glow orange under their special light and the pieces of tree were darker, so they knew what to pull out. After what felt like forever they pulled out all the bark and I was back to normal. Sort of.
They made me wear an eye patch. AN.EYE.PATCH.
Ughfreakintastic.
Even worse, I was working at a farm market with a boy that I had a crush on. I didn't even get one of the cool leathery bedazzled eye patches. Mine was tan, totally bland and not a bedazzled bead to be found.
The pirate jokes were the worst part. Thank God it was August and school hadn't started yet.
4.02.2010
The X-Ray Results
After I cracked my chin open the 3rd time I got an x-ray just to make sure that nothing was broken. I remember sitting in Dr. Heiston's (I have no idea how to spell his name. I only know he stitched my chin up 3 times and gave me penicillin shots in my rump all the time and that I got ice cream after I went to see him) office on the thin Dr. bed paper waiting for him to come back with the x-ray. I thought it was totally freaky that I was going to get to see my face without skin on it.
He came back in and told my mom that I had no broken bones but had some really deeply rooted teeth. As he looked at the x-ray he realized that the deeply rooted teeth were really an incomplete THIRD set of teeth.
I'm basically a shark.
(Sharen, you might not want to read this part...it involved the dentist)
I didn't lose all my teeth until I was 15 because I had to lose all my baby teeth, and a good chunk of my 1st set of adult teeth.
I remember one of them wouldn't come out so the dentist used his little picky thing and was yanking and yanking on it. When it finally came out it flew across the room and shattered against the wall.
(Ok, Sharen you can read again)
The Dr. told mom that I had to be really careful about hitting my chin area because the roots went down to my jawline. He said if I hit my chin just right, and he's surprised it hadn't happened these past few times, my jaw would basically start to shatter from ear to ear because of the roots compromising the strength of my jawbone.
Talk about bad news for a kid that catches herself with her face instead of her hands.
In 4th grade our gym teacher had the brilliant idea to play Crack the Whip in gym. I was on the tip of the whip and when I was whipped off I fell down and skidded across the gym floor on my chin. I didn't crack it open but there a good chunk of skin missing. Mom came to school with me the next day and I heard her yelling at the gym teacher in the principals office. This wouldn't be the last time I heard mom screaming in the principals office defending me.
In 5th grade I was playing 4 Square with some friends (before they stopped being my friends and accused me of being a lesbian because I got my period first...but whatever) and I tripped and skidded across the gravel playground on (you guessed it) my chin. Mom came to pick me up from school and take me back to the good doctor. I again, hadn't cracked open the chin. But i did have to spend about an hour laying with my head thrust back and a spotlight on my chin while the nurses dug gravel out of my chin. I'm pretty sure they missed a piece or two because my chin is still a little bumpy down there...but that could just be acne.
Also, around 5th or 6th grade Sharen and I went with our dad over to a woman from churches house. She and her husband had just split up and Dad was helping her move some heavy stuff. Sharen and I were playing with their daughter that was closest to our age upstairs in her new room. I can't remember exactly what we were doing, it involved bouncing on the bed and trying to knock each other off. But I got knocked off the bed and took a face plant into the nightstand with my chin. Overdramatically shrieking (I know you're very surprised) I ran downstairs and my dad told me to shake it off.
So in summary: I was a really clumsy kid that couldn't figure out how to catch herself with her hands. Oh, and I'm a shark.
He came back in and told my mom that I had no broken bones but had some really deeply rooted teeth. As he looked at the x-ray he realized that the deeply rooted teeth were really an incomplete THIRD set of teeth.
I'm basically a shark.
(Sharen, you might not want to read this part...it involved the dentist)
I didn't lose all my teeth until I was 15 because I had to lose all my baby teeth, and a good chunk of my 1st set of adult teeth.
I remember one of them wouldn't come out so the dentist used his little picky thing and was yanking and yanking on it. When it finally came out it flew across the room and shattered against the wall.
(Ok, Sharen you can read again)
The Dr. told mom that I had to be really careful about hitting my chin area because the roots went down to my jawline. He said if I hit my chin just right, and he's surprised it hadn't happened these past few times, my jaw would basically start to shatter from ear to ear because of the roots compromising the strength of my jawbone.
Talk about bad news for a kid that catches herself with her face instead of her hands.
In 4th grade our gym teacher had the brilliant idea to play Crack the Whip in gym. I was on the tip of the whip and when I was whipped off I fell down and skidded across the gym floor on my chin. I didn't crack it open but there a good chunk of skin missing. Mom came to school with me the next day and I heard her yelling at the gym teacher in the principals office. This wouldn't be the last time I heard mom screaming in the principals office defending me.
In 5th grade I was playing 4 Square with some friends (before they stopped being my friends and accused me of being a lesbian because I got my period first...but whatever) and I tripped and skidded across the gravel playground on (you guessed it) my chin. Mom came to pick me up from school and take me back to the good doctor. I again, hadn't cracked open the chin. But i did have to spend about an hour laying with my head thrust back and a spotlight on my chin while the nurses dug gravel out of my chin. I'm pretty sure they missed a piece or two because my chin is still a little bumpy down there...but that could just be acne.
Also, around 5th or 6th grade Sharen and I went with our dad over to a woman from churches house. She and her husband had just split up and Dad was helping her move some heavy stuff. Sharen and I were playing with their daughter that was closest to our age upstairs in her new room. I can't remember exactly what we were doing, it involved bouncing on the bed and trying to knock each other off. But I got knocked off the bed and took a face plant into the nightstand with my chin. Overdramatically shrieking (I know you're very surprised) I ran downstairs and my dad told me to shake it off.
So in summary: I was a really clumsy kid that couldn't figure out how to catch herself with her hands. Oh, and I'm a shark.
4.01.2010
Chin #3
The summer after chin incident #2 I was heading into the 4th grade. I had newly pierced ears and was ready to join the ranks of upper classmen at South Main Elementary School. I was a little nervous, I had Mr. Branstrator for a teacher. People called him Mr. Brainstrainer and I knew that I had a year of learning long division ahead of me.
But during the summer, I was free. Riding bikes for miles on country roads (this was before there were pedophiles, but not before creepy guys that live down the road from you) swimming for hours on end, building blanket forts on the play deck in the back yard and camping out in the backyard in my Popple bed tent with my seester.
But this one fateful day....I was riding my pink banana seat bike down the road with Sharen. She and I were heading to CR260 to the abandoned rail road tracks to ride (what part of that doesn't sound like the beginning to a Lifetime movie called "Where are the Children?"!). Sharen was practicing riding with no hands, (I never could do it, I was sooo jealous). I was flipping my white-blond hair around and looking everywhere but in front of me. There was rarely any traffic on our road back then so I was also riding in the very center of the road.
Then it happened. My bike stopped in it's tracks thanks to a boulder my front tire hit. Ok, so it was only a regular size rock but I still flipped over my handlebars and ended up catching myself with my chin on the road.
My sister stopped and looked back at me lying in the middle of the road screaming. The people who lived in the brown house we were riding past stopped their yard work and stared at me. Sharen hopped back on her bike and rode the 4 or 5 houses back to ours yelling for mom and dad, leaving me in the middle of the road bleeding. Thanks sissy! (kidding kidding, this is why the memories are probably only partly true. I was a melodramatic kid and the memories have been cemented in my mind as such)
The people in the brown house came running out to the street and dragged me off the road into their yard and were pressing a white (great choice!) washcloth to my chin when mom and dad (running faster then I have EVER seen either of them run) came running up. I remember someone telling me that Sharen told them I was hit by a car and was dead...but I don't know if that's true or not really.
Back to the doctor I went to get stitched up with 12 stitches in the same place as the first two time. But this time, they took an x-ray to make sure I hadn't broken anything.
What the x-ray revealed...was even more interesting.
Ultimately I was fine, a few weeks of hydrogen peroxide torture and I was good as new...with the new addition discovered in the x-ray of course.
But during the summer, I was free. Riding bikes for miles on country roads (this was before there were pedophiles, but not before creepy guys that live down the road from you) swimming for hours on end, building blanket forts on the play deck in the back yard and camping out in the backyard in my Popple bed tent with my seester.
But this one fateful day....I was riding my pink banana seat bike down the road with Sharen. She and I were heading to CR260 to the abandoned rail road tracks to ride (what part of that doesn't sound like the beginning to a Lifetime movie called "Where are the Children?"!). Sharen was practicing riding with no hands, (I never could do it, I was sooo jealous). I was flipping my white-blond hair around and looking everywhere but in front of me. There was rarely any traffic on our road back then so I was also riding in the very center of the road.
Then it happened. My bike stopped in it's tracks thanks to a boulder my front tire hit. Ok, so it was only a regular size rock but I still flipped over my handlebars and ended up catching myself with my chin on the road.
My sister stopped and looked back at me lying in the middle of the road screaming. The people who lived in the brown house we were riding past stopped their yard work and stared at me. Sharen hopped back on her bike and rode the 4 or 5 houses back to ours yelling for mom and dad, leaving me in the middle of the road bleeding. Thanks sissy! (kidding kidding, this is why the memories are probably only partly true. I was a melodramatic kid and the memories have been cemented in my mind as such)
The people in the brown house came running out to the street and dragged me off the road into their yard and were pressing a white (great choice!) washcloth to my chin when mom and dad (running faster then I have EVER seen either of them run) came running up. I remember someone telling me that Sharen told them I was hit by a car and was dead...but I don't know if that's true or not really.
Back to the doctor I went to get stitched up with 12 stitches in the same place as the first two time. But this time, they took an x-ray to make sure I hadn't broken anything.
What the x-ray revealed...was even more interesting.
Ultimately I was fine, a few weeks of hydrogen peroxide torture and I was good as new...with the new addition discovered in the x-ray of course.
3.31.2010
Chin #2
Growing up I had an in ground pool in my backyard. It was GLORIOUS. Word on the street is my parents threw me in the deep end when I was 1 and figured I would sink or swim and I swam.
By the time I was double digits I was able to swim from one end to another and back in one breath. I spent hours playing mermaid with Sara and floating on rafts with Nicole. Alaina and I plotted our overthrowing of the world from the pool and Jake and I danced to Hakuna Matata around it's edge. So many awesome memories involved that pool.
There were dark days with that pool though. I was never able to swim in it alone...at least for very long. Because of the sharks. They were very prevalent in my small town backyard fresh water pool. (Damn you Jaws...DAMN YOU!)
But I also cracked my chin open on that pool edge.
One evening after a family swim night that usually involved Sharen and scrubbing the side of the pool, because we were weird kids...let's just put that out there. This is back when there was still a fence around the pool and that's where we hung all our towels. I had reluctantly climbed out of the pool and had my towel wrapped super hero style around my shoulders. I looked around for my Strawberry Shortcake hologram flip flops and spotted them just on the other side of my dad.
So I wrapped my towel around and buried my hands down in it's warmth and began scooting around the backside of my dad to get to the wonder that was my Strawberry Shortcake flip flops.
I inched and scooted and shuffled to just behind him when he took a giant step back. Ok, for him it was just a regular step, but he's a tall guy so regular steps to a 7ish year old are giant steps. He bumped into me and since my hands were wrapped into the towel I couldn't untangle myself enough to grab onto Dad to keep from falling back into the pool. I stepped back and ran out of concrete so into the pool I went, slamming my face, chin first, into the side of the pool.
Blood went everywhere! At least that's what I thought at the time. But my chin was cracked open again.
12 stitches and several hydrogen peroxide torture sessions later I was good as new and joking that my dad pushed me in the pool on purpose. At least until the next time I cracked my chin open.
By the time I was double digits I was able to swim from one end to another and back in one breath. I spent hours playing mermaid with Sara and floating on rafts with Nicole. Alaina and I plotted our overthrowing of the world from the pool and Jake and I danced to Hakuna Matata around it's edge. So many awesome memories involved that pool.
There were dark days with that pool though. I was never able to swim in it alone...at least for very long. Because of the sharks. They were very prevalent in my small town backyard fresh water pool. (Damn you Jaws...DAMN YOU!)
But I also cracked my chin open on that pool edge.
One evening after a family swim night that usually involved Sharen and scrubbing the side of the pool, because we were weird kids...let's just put that out there. This is back when there was still a fence around the pool and that's where we hung all our towels. I had reluctantly climbed out of the pool and had my towel wrapped super hero style around my shoulders. I looked around for my Strawberry Shortcake hologram flip flops and spotted them just on the other side of my dad.
So I wrapped my towel around and buried my hands down in it's warmth and began scooting around the backside of my dad to get to the wonder that was my Strawberry Shortcake flip flops.
I inched and scooted and shuffled to just behind him when he took a giant step back. Ok, for him it was just a regular step, but he's a tall guy so regular steps to a 7ish year old are giant steps. He bumped into me and since my hands were wrapped into the towel I couldn't untangle myself enough to grab onto Dad to keep from falling back into the pool. I stepped back and ran out of concrete so into the pool I went, slamming my face, chin first, into the side of the pool.
Blood went everywhere! At least that's what I thought at the time. But my chin was cracked open again.
12 stitches and several hydrogen peroxide torture sessions later I was good as new and joking that my dad pushed me in the pool on purpose. At least until the next time I cracked my chin open.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)