My first sleepover was when I was eight or nine and it was at Lisa’s house. That night, I was scared of how dark it was in her room so I was able to convince her to leave the little lamp on her dresser. However, the light was too bright for her so our compromise was to cover it with her older sister’s blouse. It was red. Several hours later we both woke to the smell of something burning to discover a thin wisp of smoke coming up from the lamp where the light-bulb had generated enough heat to scorch the blouse. Lisa’s mom and sister were furious. I never did have another sleepover at Lisa’s house.
My little sister and I were out in the sheep yard playing. I might have been around six or seven years old. The sheep were of course in the yard and I remember one of the bucks stepping away from the group. I turned to him and pawed my foot on the ground, like I was some kind of challenge to him. Seconds later, I found myself ass-deep in the water tank. I lifted myself out of the tank, soaking wet and the wind knocked out of me. My dad, who I must have went crying to, was angry because he thought I was “swimming” in the sheep tank.
Imagine a pile of boulders on a truck. You have to empty the truck, but you can’t just start pull the heaviest and biggest boulder out from the pile. You have to start with the smaller ones, clear them away, methodically make room. That’s my brain right now.
Aaaaand I just realized that means I have a head full of rocks. Nice.
I don’t remember who any of my teacher’s were in school except for Mrs. Stingley. She was the opposite of her name sounds and as the Kindergarten teachers go, aren’t they always the sweetest, kindest, and most loving? She was. However, I have a heck of a time remember much of anything from my childhood, especially the traumatizing school years. Last night I was trying to recollect those moments that flit occasionally across my lobes and I realize while I can’t turn the stories into something meaningful today, I think the fact that I can still remember them must mean something. Maybe in 30 years, when my mind has slipped into the fog like my mom’s, I’ll be able to come here to relive them.
With that being said, I’ll be throwing up a bunch of these little senseless snippets from time to time. In fact, I may publish a half dozen all at once, but I want them to be separate posts. Don’t mind me and your "Reader.Clutter". Sit back and enjoy how boring my childhood was. Maybe once the little boulders are gone, I can talk again about the big, unwieldy ones.