When I was your age…

At times, some of the strangest artifacts come tumbling out.

“Julia Childs? Not tonight.”

My mom attempted to make Goulash one night. Pretty easy right? Throw some ingredients into the crock-pot, turn it on, and walk away. (Let me just interject here: my mother does know how to prepare a meal. She’s owned and operated a very successfull restaurant for the past 15 years. This was before that.) It was stomach-churning to say the least. My dad was being the dutiful, unerring spouse and just retching it down. I was not. No, I didn’t deliver my bowl across the room via airmail. Yes, I thought I was going to ralph everywhere, on everyone, without pause as to who would be receiving the partially digested contents of my upper Alimentary Canal. And as I sat there picturing that pandemonium, I vurped. You know, the Vomit-Burp. My palate, what was let of it, was decimated. And my tongue wasn’t going to be restrained. I shoved my bowl just beyond my reach, and proclaimed, “This is gross. I’m not gonna eat it!”

My dad took one look at me- you know, The Look. The one that when it comes out, the dog tucks tail and gets out of Dodge. Yeah, that look.

I don’t know if it was the emesis about to trigger the up-chuck reflex within me, or the Goulash itself, but I was undeterred. He could have shot me The Look all night- I had dug in on this one. No retreat.

Seeing that his first born had lived up to his birthright of being strong willed, my dad attempted diplomacy. “There’s starving kids in China that would love this meal.”

Sorry. No dice, pops. No, I didn’t just sit there with arms folded in a Norman-Rockwell-esque-pose. That’s right. I said it. Without using any one of the billions of neurons in my young cephalic area, I said, “Well then. Why don’t YOU put it in a brown bag and ship it to em!?”

Darkness. Was I dead? I didn’t think so. Was I alive? Jury is still deliberating, no verdict. Had I transported to another dimension? Heck, even I didn’t believed that one. Logic won, and my reasoning told me I was still alive. My eyes were shut.

I opened my eyes- just in time to see the back of my dad’s meat-hook. Nice dad. Diplomacy is overrated anyway.

And with that I collected myself and retired to my room. Nothing had to be said. Game Over. Parents: 1 Me: Goose egg

No, I didn’t get anything else to eat that night. Yes, I gladly ate it for breakfast the next morning.

“These balloons are awesome!”

If you’ve heard this keep reading.

We, my brother and I, would sometimes get these cool, ob-long balloons in the bath on Sunday morning. It wasn’t ever planned, and it only happened two or three times. I recall the balloons being really thin, and that they would pop if we weren’t careful with them. They were super fun!

Fast forward like ten-ish years. I’m in middle school. I’m outside at lunch or something and I hear someone proclaim that a water balloon fight is commencing. Sweet. Arriving on scene I find the spheres flying this way and that, some finding the target’s they were destined for, and others failing- but all the while making just as impressive hydrological explosions on terra firma. Someone shoves one into my hand. I glance down and think, “Now that’s a strange looking water balloon.” Its transparent, and has a disproportionate inlet for filling, with parallel rings running the entire length of it, and a little nipple-like protrusion at the top. I let it fly. I watch as it gains momentum and altitude, resembling a heavenly body on its pre-time-determined path and orbit, and I remember the cool balloons, in the bathtub, on Sunday mornings.

Suddenly I recollect more concerning those balloons. They looked a lot like the one flying through the atmosphere right now. They too were pellucid, and had parallel rings, a huge air inlet, and, while not as pronounced, there certainly was a slight resemblance to the teat-esque protuberance. There was something else about those Sunday morning balloons. Oh yeah. They repelled water really well. The water from the tub just seemed to bead-up on them. They weren’t easy to grip either, kinda slippery actually. Wait a minute.

To this day my mom swears that they never did such a thing. My dad, whence confronted with the evidence of my cerebral significances, managed to elude cross-examination.

But I know. If you don’t get it, think about it. If you still don’t get it, Tommy will come over and hit you on the head with a tac-hammer, because you are a……now that’s funny.