Saving the Sweetest Memories

I guess we all have been guilty of thinking about doing something stupid. Most of us don't, but there are those few in the minority who do. You know, retarded stunts that make you wonder what was ever going through that person's mind to want to do something so dumb? Well, let me be the first to share a moment with you that has lived with me for thirty-nine years.

It was a crisp, cold winter morning back in 1971. I lived on Main Street with my parents, sister and brother. I was three years old.

My brother and sister had gone outside to play in the snow. Never wanting to be left out of the fun, I begged my mother to let me join them. She dismissed me by complaining I was too young to go out without her and that it was just too cold. I made a fuss until she finally gave in and dressed me warmly in my snowsuit and boots. Happily I bolted out the door with my brother.

Once outside, the sharp air brushed my cheeks for the first time in my memory. The snowflakes swirled around me like little dancers. When I breathed, billowing clouds puffed from my lips. It was so new and exciting. I wanted to explore as much as possible.

My brother relished the newness of my presence. I guess he felt proud to be the one to introduce me to this new experience. He punctuated his glee by hitting me upside my head with a snowball. My sister, always the "mother hen" answered back by throwing a snowball back. I tried in vain to make one of my own.

We soon became bored of our antics. My brother was off on his next escapade and I have no idea what my sister was doing. I had become mesmerized by a utility pole covered in frost just off the sidewalk. It glistened and sparkled in the sun. I touched it, but my mittened hand gave no hint of what it really felt like. My mittens were attached by a string inside my snowsuit. I couldn't figure out how to get them off. I was reduced to the one thing that was available to touch with, my tongue! Heck, I had put so many other things in my mouth to explore them, why not now?

It was like I was in slow motion. I cautiously leaned into the pole for a taste. Once my tongue touched the pole, a sharp cold feeling enveloped my tongue. I didn't like it one bit and tried to pulled away. I was stuck, like a rat in a trap! I screamed and my sister and brother came running.

The first thing out of my sister's mouth was, "Ooooooo you're going to get a whoopin!" I wasn't sure if she meant me or my brother or both, but I knew immediately what it meant and panicked. My brother panicked too. He ran around me and the pole for what seemed like eternity. I cried to be released. Finally, he and my sister discussed their options. Go get Mamma or pull me off the pole themselves. My seven-year old sister was the wisest of us all. She exclaimed the second option would tear off my tongue by doing that. I cried louder with the thought of this. My brother reminded me of the impending whoopin and told me to quiet down before my mother heard us. I forced back the tears and howls.

My brother made up his mind. He postioned himself behind me and told me he was going to pull at the count of three. My sister turned away, unable to look. One...two...three! With a strong tug my brother yanked me from the pole. I felt incredible pain, then there was a rush of blood. He pulled out my tongue, I thought! My sister was waiting with a snowball. "Here, put this on it!" I cried in pain. My brother chided me more for doing it in the first place. "That's what you get!"

The moral? Well, I learned a valuable lesson that day. I never repeated my folly and was grateful my mother never found out (or discovered the skin from my tongue on that telephone pole).

I invite you to share your precious childhood, milestones, etc. memories. If you don't have pictures, I'm pretty good with Photoshop and would be happy to plug one in for you. You can email your story to me at walkerbettina@ymail.com and I will copy it to my hub page to share with everyone else. Keep it clean and no fakes please. Happy thoughts!

As children, we all were warned by our parents that Santa would bring us a lump of coal if we misbehaved.  As mischievous as I was at the age of eight, not even this outcome deterred me from my antics.  My fate was worse than any coal.  In retrospect, I think I would have prefered it.

That year my parents enjoyed a surplus of income which promised a bounty of presents for my siblings and I.  For the first time, my mother wrote down our magnitude of desires and promised we would receive every toy, game, etc. that year.

On Christmas Eve I was a bundle of nerves.  I haven't the slightest clue why, since I knew what I was getting.  Never-the-less the suspense was killing me.  There were so many presents under the tree, I couldn't count them all without touching them.  My mother gave me a stern warning just before she left to do some last minute shopping, "If I come back and find you have opened any of the presents, you'll get it!"  This was enough to keep me at bay for about an hour.

Time passed.  I couldn't hold out any longer.  I figured I would peek at one, and leave the rest alone.  I was looking for "Mouse Trap", which was the one I wanted the most.  None of the presents had name tags on them.  I would have to guess.  I spied a present that seemed like it would be the right size and began to gently peel back the tape.  Oh no!  I pulled too hard and ripped the wrapping paper.  I had to fix it.  I added a few more pieces of tape to cover my blunder.  It wasn't a present for me anyway.

I tried another with better precision.  Unfortunately, it wasn't mine either.  I began to become frustrated and threw the package down.  It had to be here.  I spied another package that seemed like a good fit snuggled behind the tree.  When I crawled under to get it, I bumped the tree.  Timber!  The whole thing came crashing down!

I had to hide my crime fast.  I up-righted the tree and put the ornaments back on.  It was a mess.  That's when I noticed it.  The lights were out!  I tried pushing them back in like I had seen my mother do.  It wasn't working.  I knew I was done for.  I unplugged it and ran upstairs to hide in my room to wait for my mother to return.

It wasn't long after when she returned burdened down with presents.  As soon as she walked into the living room, she noticed the tree and knew immediately I had been afoot.  "Get down here!  What happened?"  I made up some lame excuse about bumping into the tree while picking up an ornament that fell.  I could see the volcano of anger welling up in her eyes.  She glanced down and saw the array of half-wrapped and over-taped presents.  That was the final straw. 

Needless to say I "got it" bad and ended up without a Christmas.

When I was four, our family moved in an extremely large apartment complex. Its construction was very unusual. There were twelve, horseshoe-shaped complexes consisting of many townhouses. Some were attached, others were free-standing. In the center of each complex stood a parking lot.

While unpacking and setting in, my mother encouraged me to go outside and ride my tricyle to get out of her hair. I, being unusually outgoing, ran to get my trike. I remember my sister saying something like I would never get it out the door. Needless to say, I did with a few bumps and bruises.

Once outside, I wanted to explore. The place seemed overwhelmingly huge to me. Leading from our front walk was a very long concrete sidewalk. Freshly paved and smooth as a baby's bottom. I jumped on my trike and began to ride. What heaven! The wind in my face. The sun in my eyes. I pedaled so fast, I lost track of where I was going. Suddenly, the sidewalk ended abruptly. There was a strange street in front of me with loud, noisy cars going to and fro. It then dawned on me...I was lost! I immediately turned around to get my bearings. I couldn't tell which house was mine, because they all were identical. I called out to my mom. Nobody came. I began to cry.

From behind me I a heard a small voice. "Hey girl. Can I ride your bike?" I turned around and saw a girl about my age. Naturally, I said "No, my mother said I can't let anybody on." She frowned.  There was a boy standing with her. He said, "What's your name?" I told him and he introduced himself and his sister. I then began to explain that I was lost. They both looked at each other and laughed. "We know where you live. You just moved in next to us!" the girl said. "Do you want us to take you home?" I said "yes", and her brother placed one foot on the steps of my tricycle and began to push. I took my feet off the pedals. "Wheeee!" His sister ran along side.

In no time I was back in front of our apartment. I thanked them and ran inside to tell my mom about my new friends.

My "new" friends turned out to be lifetime friends. I remained friends with the brother and sister until he passed away two years ago. As for my best friend, his sister, the pain of losing her brother coupled with extremely hard times placed a strain on our friendship. We stopped talking six months after his death.

I miss her.