A question a few weeks ago, and then again this weekend with Dad. So I thought I should write something.
“Tell us a story about when you were a kid.”
“Let me think,” I responded slowly, as all three boys waited.
“Or when Dad was a kid. You guys never talk about your childhoods.”
We don’t? How can that be? I am sure I’ve told every story a hundred times.
“Like the school camping trip when I scored a touchdown?”
“You told us that one.”
“My first bad word when your great-grandmother came to visit and I was 2?”
“That one too.”
“When I ate the icing off my birthday cake right before….”
Swimming back from the Annapolis rope swing in a thunderstorm. Looking out the car window for Rudolph’s red nose on Christmas Eve. Cookies and coke after “Scenes!” for next week’s Little House on the Prairie. Fireworks thrown in the phone-booth at Shakey’s Pizza. The 8th grade Mafia. Skipping the funny lines when we did Annie Get Your Gun at the National Theater, because I was the supposed to be Head of Costumes.
Slumber parties on the screened-in porch. Dance contests to ABBA, Billy Joel and the Monkeys. Shattering the overhead light with a celebratory fist-pump when I made a rare trashcan three-pointer. M&M soap operas on the environmental science trip. A great seaweed battle on the Brewster beach and reenacting Chariots of Fire when we ran.
Private-time walks. Kick the Can games on Hampden Lane. Lifeguarding at Edgemoor, and getting sprayed off the chair with a huge hose by the tennis crew. Winning team got Smarties, losing team got Dum-Dums, and wanting to throw the third grade spelling bee… just once.
The Passing Goddess on the road to Rehoboth and the Parking Goddess everywhere. Laughing so hard that we couldn’t carry the groceries home. Maggie watching out the window for us from the top of the dining room table, now covered in her sweet-dog scratches so we don’t forget her.
Just moments really. Each one not worthy of a story on its own. But together, they are me, their mom. So where to start?