It’s day 8 here at National Blog Writing Month and we’re rolling like tumbleweeds in a spaghetti western. I’ve missed two days so far but today is going to make up for those two days in which I stared at the computer screen and talked to it as if it would listen to me and provide the inspiration to lay down some literary loquaciousness on the keys. Yes, I just used a 14 letter word as a adjective to describe writing. I’m a English geek with some nerd tendencies. I blame my parents.
Which is true. They are probably to blame for some of my oddness. Some of it. Not all it. That much oddness is an oddity in itself. How many ways can I work the word odd and it’s various forms into a sentence? See the sentence before this one for an example of my “odd”. Moving on!
There are many things your parents don’t tell you until you’re old enough to handle. Certain things like, “You’re a test tube baby” or “your father is Mitt Romney” are best broke to children when they’re capable of processing the cray cray that you’re about to lay on them. It’s those moments where entire realities shift and the world literally changes. And for some of us those revelations are minor and require little to no therapy. Other times the repeated regimen of extreme electric shock therapy will never help heal the hurts of the revelations.
There are two revelations that shook the very foundation of my existence. One was that I my parents didn’t think I was ready for kindergarten so they put me in a year late. And so I was always older and taller than the kids in my classes. This would have been great if I was Tatum Channing. I would never have had problems having dates or girlfriends. My tallness or oldness would have been glossed over because…well, have you seen Mr. Channing?
The point is that God has a sense of humor and instead of Channing it was Urkel. And so my awkward and pimply faced nerd with a heavy case of the geek was a klutz because again – God has a sense of humor. When I look back I realize it wasn’t the worst thing that could have happened. I managed to get through the middle school years (that’s a story for another post) and discover that Urkel did fit in somewhere in High School. Between a brief stint in marching band and my theatre technician addiction I managed to get beyond being the bigger and older. Until my folks told me why I was that way. Which took all of a few minutes to get over. But in that moment of hearing it there were all kinds of unkind questions running through my mind. Was I stupid? Was I smart? Would I ever get over that middle school crush? And would my seizure like dancing ever truly be healed?
The second revelation was that I was dropped on my head as a child. Off a JC Penny changing table. To hear my parents tell the story is to recount the greatest horror any parent has ever witnessed in their entire career as a loving caregiver. The ironic-al part is that when the story is truthfully told from start to finish it wasn’t them that dropped me on my head as a child.
It was me. I dropped myself on my head as a child. I was turning and moving on the changing table. Mom turned her eyes away for no longer than a milli-second or a blink of an eye. And in that moment my ninja jedi powers activated and I rolled off the table and fell headfirst into the hard bathroom floor. Apparently the tears combined with the look I gave my poor mother was akin to, “WHY!?!?!??!?!” and she never let me out of her sight again. I’m sure our parents have plenty of stories they don’t relate to us for the simple fact that the scars would be just about too much to handle.
There’s plenty of other stories about my insanity. How I was de-pantsed in front of the entire elementary school play ground which then required the 15 or so of us directly involved to be called into a meeting with the principal. Or how I was climbing to the top of a tree near my house and lost my footing and fell hitting every single branch on the way down before crashing to the ground in a heap of embarrassment. Or the time I broke my arm running across the ice slicked campus of Montana State University despite my parents telling me not to run. I was like three. Or the time I broke my other arm running full on into a parked car. Tag was involved but my ability to pull hard to port was lacking. Or that time I farted like a nuclear explosion four times in a row in the middle of a assembly featuring George Washington.
I’ve had plenty of those moments in my life. Pretty sure there’s more to come. What about you?
It’s day 8 of National Blog Writing Month – and it’s going amazing. Check out all the blogs blogging through the month and give ‘em a read!