Showing posts with label childhood memories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label childhood memories. Show all posts

Monday, February 4, 2013

"Overcoming Adversity" Bloghop






Scattergun Scribblings


                                                                  

Nick Wilford is hosting the  "Overcoming Adversity" bloghop  where writers are invited to share stories to help raise funds to send his stepson Andrew to a  specialist college. Nick has graciously offered to compile these short stories into an anthology. Thanks to Nick for all of his hard work, and best of luck to Andrew. Be sure to visit the other writers who are joining forces to help Nick's family reach their goals. This is my story.
             
 
Tales From The Back Row        


Growing up I had my fair share of run-ins with bullies. Recess was always my worst part of the day. When I told the supervisors that older classmates were chasing me, and often tackling me to the ground, they just looked away. Eventually, I took matters into my own hands, and pushed a boy back. He fell on the playground, and had to have stitches. I felt empowered, but not for long.

It didn’t help that I had big buck teeth, and walked like a penguin. My own brother silently terrorized me by giving me the “buck tooth signal” at the dinner table when my parents weren’t looking. Suddenly, I would start crying, and my brother would be innocently eating his vegetables. Occasionally, my dad would just give him a whack although he never caught him in the act.

Years later, I wore braces, and practiced walking with an encyclopedia on my head which alleviated my waddle, but I was still a klutz. Then I joined the school chorus, and finally felt like I belonged.
 
I continued singing in junior high, and was excited to audition for my first high school play. After I was rejected, I joined the stage crew. There I was reunited with a nasty neighbor. Nothing I did was good enough, and he was hurling insults like a family member. Finally, my brother knocked on his door, and told his father that if he didn’t leave me alone, he would have no choice but to beat up his son. My brother was shorter than him, but more powerfully built. His father nodded in agreement, and they shook on it. This happened at the end of my freshman year when my brother was a senior. From that point on, the boy never bothered me again, and we even became friends.

During my sophomore year, I began taking voice lessons at school, and still had no luck. The following year, my voice teacher suggested that I perform an opera in a state competition. After I won first place, the musical director had a change of heart, and cast me in the chorus of the spring musical. I was finally going to be in my first school play, after three long years of rejection. I didn’t even mind that they stuck me in the back row, because I was tall; though I knew it was because I couldn’t dance.

Sadly, my dad never got to see me onstage. He was hospitalized before my first performance, and passed away about a month later. I’ll always remember the day I came home from school after I made the play. There was a big, shiny silver star on my bedroom door with my name written on it. When I excitedly ran to thank my mom, she was caught unaware. Next, I took a closer look at the star, and saw that the inscription was in my dad’s handwriting.

Thursday, December 13, 2012

Hidden Holiday Treasures


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While most people are still clamoring to find last minute holiday gifts, I did some of my shopping early in an unexpected place. When my mom sold her house in September, I didn't have to look further than her china cabinet for some hidden treasures.

Buried behind rows of dishes and glasses in her breakfront, were beautiful platters and figurines. Though she took her favorite pieces to her new apartment, she let me choose from the rest of her collection.

I even set aside some manly bar glasses for our boys. As I was rummaging through the wet bar, I was reminded of the holiday parties we had growing up. My mom would wear her long silky tiger print robe, while she served champagne punch in cheetah print glasses to our guests seated on the comfy leopard couch. 

My brother and I would look up at the adults from the rust shag carpeting, before we would race to load up on crabmeat dip, sweet and sour meatballs, and other delicious hors d'oeuvres. My dad was in charge of serving the "real" drinks, when he wasn't carving the turkey or brisket. During the summer, he was known for his expert grilling techniques.

Clean up duty was even fun at family gatherings, because all of the women would work together. My mom and grandma were in charge of putting the leftovers away, while I loaded the dishwasher, and my great aunts would help dry the remaining dishes. I wish that I could remember some of the wonderful conversations that took place back then.

Though my mom had hoped to sell more of her antiques, there were some surprises along the way. As I was packing up her clothes and shoes for charity, I found a beautiful pair of black boots that had never been worn. Enclosed was the receipt dating back to 1997. The next day I tried to return the boots to the department store, and they issued a full cash refund.

Shortly before the closing, I went back to the house for one last look when I found a small white box. It contained a generous gift certificate to a day spa dated from November 1988. I put it in my purse for safe keeping, gathered the rest of the last minute items, and said goodbye to my childhood home.

Recently, I went to the luxurious day spa, and gave the twenty-four-year-old gift certificate to the cashier. I was hoping that it would still have some cash value, and was astounded when she agreed to honor the original amount. I thanked her, and asked her to issue a new gift card, because I didn't want to take any chances.

The other day my mom asked me what I wanted for Hanukkah, and I told her that she already gave me a wonderful present. I reminded her about the gift certificate, and said that we could both share a day of beauty together. Although she liked the idea, she still hasn't forgiven me for replacing her forty-five-year-old shag carpeting. 


*Just a note to let you know that I'll be taking a short family break. Wishing everyone a Happy Holiday, and the next time a relative asks you to help them clean out their cupboards, be sure to run right over.