My parents sold our house from my childhood recently. Vicky and I had visited a few weeks beforehand to gather our left-over things, reminisce, and enjoy it one last time.
It was an odd thing to walk away from something so attached to the life of my mind. The spaces and smells which gave context and meaning to most of my growing-up experience… left vacant and somehow less meaningful. I wondered how many treasured things I had left buried around that property, things I would never see again.
Last year I wrote about my father. I wanted to write something this year about my mother, but none of my stories could demonstrate some of the important ways she has been my mom, so I made a list of these important things instead.
I only wanted one thing in first grade. Our teacher would play a memory game with the class where she walked around the room, touching several objects; desk, chair, light switch, aquarium, blackboard. She would finish her circuit and call up a kid to try and reproduce the exact order. I can’t tell you how many times we sat on the edge of our seats as kid after kid would fail, hoping the next kid didn’t figure it out… I knew if I could only have a go at it, I would do it perfectly. Read more “Vulnerability and the Ritz Cracker People”
There is a home video of an Easter egg hunt in my grandparents backyard when I was a child. I was probably four or five years old, judging by my uncle’s neon shorts and dapper mullet. That year my leg had broken in a car accident, during which our van rolled into a field. My great-grandmother and older brother walked away just a little shaken up, my mom had been knocked briefly unconscious, my little brother had a bloody nose, and I ended up with a full length purple leg cast. Read more “The Stuff My Dad Didn’t Do”