Posts Tagged ‘Childhood’

A Little Night Hooey

April 29, 2017

When my kids were small they’d sometimes call out for a glass of water in the middle of the night. When they did, I’d always yell back, “I don’t wanna come in there – the monsters under your bed will eat me!” That sure kept ’em quiet.

A Cock And Bull Story

February 3, 2017

When I was really, really young, like around 3 or 4 years old, I wanted to be a rooster. People would say, “What do you want be when you grow up?” And I’d say, “A rooster! Cock-a-doodle-do!” Some might think that this was all some great big Freudian mess, but it really was nothing more than I liked the sign at the old Colonial Grocery Store near our house. The mascot was a stylized rooster and it was all brightly lit up at night atop the store’s façade. No great mystery. Unfortunately, that didn’t stop Matt Feldspar from using it as the basis for an embarrassing verbal assault all throughout high school when, thinking it might be an endearing personal tidbit, I mistakenly revealed it during a “get to know me” exercise in Sophomore World Civ. It’s not that I’d led a sheltered life, but I’ll be damned if I knew there were that many slang terms for the male anatomy and that each one could be so effectively woven into an eager bully’s repertoire.

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Young Sparky’s Future Shame

Yo Mama

October 1, 2016

I got a yo yo for my eleventh birthday.

One of the Duncan Yo Yo Masters was at the Kwik Pik down the street the following weekend but I couldn’t go. As a consequence, I could never get the damn thing to work. Walk the dog? Around the world? Rock the baby? Hell no. They might as well have given me a puck on a string. Which is, come to think it, what I asked for in the first place. 

Yeah, okay, I was an odd kid.

And You Smell Like One Too

June 6, 2016

Went to Baskin Robbins once for my birthday. Only it wasn’t really my birthday. And it wasn’t really a Baskin Robbins. It was a cardboard box in the back yard and I think it was an Arbor Day.

I was an only child. Can you tell?

Mothers Of Invective

May 8, 2016

Okay, think back. Remember when I was six and I cried because I forgot to get you a present for your birthday and you sat me down and told me I never had to get you anything ever because – and I quote – “You are the most precious gift I could ever ask for!”

Well, that’s why you didn’t get a Mother’s Day card today. So get off my back, old woman!

Tales From My Screwed-Up Childhood #89

January 9, 2014

All my uncle Todd ever gave me for my birthday was a case of ringworm. Granted, this is pretty reprehensible behavior from a relative so I felt much relived when, years later, I was told that I didn’t have an Uncle Todd and the guy who would occasionally take me on “outings” was some drifter my dad had once nearly run over in his Maverick. In retrospect, I guess I should consider myself damn lucky the most he ever gave me was a fungal infection.

Tales From My Screwed-Up Childhood #16

December 7, 2013

What’s worse than having your parents force you to go to a birthday party you don’t want to attend? Having someone else’s parents force you to go to a birthday party you don’t want to attend.

In middle school, my best friend’s little brother was having a birthday party. I got a perfunctory invite but didn’t plan on attending due to A) the somewhat annoying nature of the birthday boy, B) the fact that I wasn’t friends with the kid, and C) the realization that I’d rather spork my own eyes out than spend 5 minutes with the corduroy pillow-humping creep (a description I did not just make up, sadly). Unfortunately, my best friend’s mom, under the mistaken impression that my friendship with her elder son had stifled her youngest’s ability to maintain friends of his own (see C above and you’ll know why that wasn’t true), told me that I could not have my best friend at my upcoming birthday bash unless I attended the party of his younger brother.

Luckily, my best friend got sick the day of the party and his mother consented to allow me to leave the gathering early in order to keep him company. Sigh. Heart of a saint she had. (She kept it in an urn on the mantel.)

Tales From My Screwed-Up Childhood #11

November 17, 2013

When I was a kid, my Uncle Manny would always come over and say, “Hey, kid, I wanna give you something special!” Then he’d do something juvenile like give me a wedgie or a noogie or a purple nurple or swirly or something like that. And then he’d laugh all nasally and weird. The first few times, I came a-running, expecting something really cool. By the time I was 12, I learned to hide in the priest hole in the back of my closet whenever I saw his ’69 Pontiac Firebird come up the driveway.

Last I heard, Manny was driving an RV cross-country. Not his RV, mind you … which would explain the police pursuit.