Thoughts on my childhood summers - part 3

The stepmonster didn't like us being in the house during the summer. So, me, Shannon, and her kids, the twins, were outside most of the day. Some parents would counter that we should be out, playing, taking in the fresh air. Yeah, I get that point. I do. Who wants kids running in and out of the house all day? But seriously, she would kick us out in the morning and not let us back in until shortly before Dad would come home from work, with the exception being the short amount of time we would eat our lunches. And I would turn out looking more like a lobster than a little kid. (Did this woman ever hear of sunscreen? They did have it in the 80's. It's not like it was 1889!)

The stepmonster decided one day that I should be wearing a bra. I was nine. There really wasn't anything there yet. But as was her way, she pushed me to the local discount big box store to buy what would become my first bra (this stupid padded thing that made no sense at the time, and less sense now). I remember when she brought us back home to my mom, her telling us to go inside because she needed to have a conversation with the woman who brought us into the world, and then reaming her out because I wasn't wearing a bra yet.

Needless to say, Mom thought it was kind of funny. The stepmonster was really good at turning these stupid little things into monster-sized horrific situations.

This reminds me of one of the other head-butting-of-the-moms situation they once had. The stepmonster did not like my mom. Despite the fact that mom had bent over backwards trying to accommodate her at every turn, and despite the fact that she had urged me and Shannon to like this new pseudo-parent, the stepmonster found every manner of fault with my mom.

One Thanksgiving, we had turkey hot dogs for our holiday dinner because my sister, whose only job was to take the turkey out of the freezer to thaw while my mom was at work, failed to do so. The result was my mom asking what we wanted for dinner and us, wanting the quickest, tastiest meal possible, said "hot dogs" of course. The fact that they were turkey hot dogs is coincidental. They just happened to be in the fridge. When Dad and the stepmonster called, we didn't hesitate to tell them of our meal. Not a big deal. Not so to that woman, who told all these people, including my dad's sister who still talked to my mom, that Mom was no doubt a terrible mother, completely incompetent. All because we had hot dogs on Thanksgiving.

Note: The irony of this whole situation is that she accused my mother of bad parenting, when you could find fewer specimins worse than the example my stepmonster was (who has Borderline Personality Disorder, by the way). Volatile, mean, and at times violent, she probably still believes she was the better mother. Go figure.

The summer we spent the longest at my dad's, I got very sick from their smoking (I'm both asthmatic and allergic to cigarette smoke - not particulary fun). It turned into a nasty respiratory infection that my body took forever trying to shake. No one bothered taking me to the doctor (though I'd been sick for weeks) until a day or two before our returning home to our mother (the nursing school student). Yes, the stepmonster thought this an imposition, no doubt. But eventually she made an effort to get me well.

Where was Dad during all this? Working.

I suppose he took a bit more time off during those times that me and Shannon were there to visit him. But not a whole lot.

On the upside, at least he did fun things with us, like take us to museums or zoos or on various errands. He'd pretend he was the pilot and we were the navigators when we were in the car. His conversations would be interesting, to the point of philosophical. The stepmonster would take us to the lake and leave us there.

Why did he marry her? We're still trying to figure that out.

Thoughts on my childhood summers - part 2

For me, the summer vacations were split into three.

First, there was the time spent at home. No worries.

Second, there was the time spent with my grandparents in small-town Minnesota. More on that in a minute.

Third, there was the time spent at my dad's house with my stepmonster and stepsisters. This will require a whole other post.

I have to tell you, for Shannon and me, being at home with Mom was just fine with us. Yes, there was the typical arguments and the dreaded cleaning of the bedroom and such. But there was also the little outings and the relaxed atmosphere and the friends. This was best. Always the best.

When we lived in Wahpeton, we (Shannon and I) had a lot of freedom. Mom was doing home-health care at the time for this old lady who only lived a few blocks from us. She would go to work, and we'd run around everywhere. They have this great park in Wahpeton with a zoo and a pool and everything else to make a free child giggle with delight (mind you, I haven't been there in eighteen years, so I'm sure time has changed some things). I have just learned that they started charging admission to Chahinkapa Zoo (just try to pronounce that one). It was free when we lived there. I should've known that would end.

Anyway, I remember going to the pool every single day. Even on the days when it was particularly chilly. And afterwards, we'd hit up this little stand outside that served those little ice cones with all these different flavor syrups. We could have as many flavors as we wanted on those babies (okay, I'll have the bubblegum, and the watermelon, and the strawberry!) and they only charged a quarter (if memory serves correctly). It was awesome. We were so happy then.

I remember going to the little zoo all the time. Even on my own. I'd just ride my bike down there and walk through, hang out with the barnyard bunch in the petting zoo, and talk to my friend, the otter. It was pleasant.

Once we'd moved from Wahpeton to Anoka (MN), that all changed. We didn't feel like we had the kind of independence there we once had. The setting was completely different. After the two years in Anoka, we went to Oak Creek (WI), where I ended up graduating from high school. Oak Creek was a hell of a lot better than Anoka, but we were older by then and the degrees of independence were different as a result.

We lived in an apartment complex in Oak Creek that had a swimming pool. We spent a bunch of time there until growing too self-conscious of our bodies, and then it was only sporadically.

Anyhow, another part of our summer vacations was spent at Grandma and Grandpa's house. This wasn't too bad, though I have to say the forced labor wasn't pleasant. Grandma's idea of fun was making me and Shannon weed the garden, pick those god-awful string beans, and paint and clean whatever random thing came up. Say what you want about the pleasures of living in an old home. When you're a kid and it's summer vacation, the last thing you want to do is chores.

My grandparents' marriage was - er - interesting. I've been told that the first few years they were married they were both very happy. Somewhere along the way, that changed. The result was my Grandpa being buzzed at the supper table while Grandma nagged him endlessly. If you'd been watching me and Shannon, you'd think we were at a tennis match. Let the insults fly!

It wasn't all bad. We had friends to play with, and books to read, and an endless supply of old movies to watch (most of which I've probably forgotten).

And Grandpa, God bless him, knew how to pick out the sweets. In his lifetime, he probably ate damn near a million of the chocolate covered cake doughnuts he got from the bakery in Spring Valley. To be fair, those things are excellent. He'd freeze them, and we'd take them out, one at a time, and nuke them for fifteen or twenty seconds. Divine!

Ah, the simplicity of those days!

But, as is the lot of children of divorced parents, we had to go to Dad's at some point.

And this, my friends, is where the summer vacations get sticky (and I don't mean humid).

Continued tomorrow...

Thoughts on my childhood summers - part 1

So, it'll probably prove an uneventful weekend. I thought a little reminiscing might shake things up.

I remember the last day of school when I was in sixth grade with a slight cringe. (Wait for it.)

My sixth grade teacher is probably one of the best I ever had. Sadly, this is overshadowed by the fact that it was one of the worst years I had in childhood. This has to do with the fact that most of the kids in my class were a bunch of douche bags. (I'll leave that for another time, perhaps.)

So, my teacher, in all his wisdom, organized an outing for all of us on the last day of school. I think it might be pretty typical, especially for the elementary set, to get out of the classroom before the start of the most hallowed of times - the summer vacation. We went to some park for a giant picnic and water fight. This was to be followed by a trip to the bowling alley for a little competitive pseudo-sport.

I thought this teacher was pretty cool, coming up with tons of strange activities for us to participate in. It's funny - thinking of those things now, it was like team-building exercises that bored middle management make their employees do, like retreats and those stupid trust-building activities (think: falling-backward-and-believing-that-your-partner-will-catch-you type of stuff). Maybe I'll tell you other stories of this guy another time.

Anyway, the picnic went off without a hitch. Then came the water fight. Nothing overly embarrassing. Then we went to the bowling alley.

You see, dear readers, I had a bag with a change of clothes with me in anticipation of having to change them after the water fight. I had been wearing my swimming suit under my clothes thinking this would make for easy access to the water fight. Turns out, I didn't even need them. The water fight, though it happened, didn't really happen for me. Instead, I only got a little wet, then I sat out the rest of it, brimming with boredom. I might've chatted with a friend. Details of this are sketchy. What I do know is that the changing of the clothes that was supposed to take place never occurred. So, when we got to the bowling alley, I still had the bag with the clean clothes.

Now, I bowled a little. It was alright. Nothing to brag about. (I might've actually knocked down a couple pins - I don't really remember.)

As we were gathering our stuff to leave and get back to the school for the buses and the final "adios" from the teachers, a friend of mine thought she'd do me a favor as I was tying my shoes and picked up my bag. Sadly, she grabbed it oddly and most of my clothes, including my little nude-colored training bra, fell out onto the cigarette burned carpet.

This did get some attention, to my horror. There was some outbursts of laughter by all the popular kids (okay, more than "some") and some sympathetic looks from the other sixth grade teachers, who were female.

I, to my credit, blushed in silence, whipped the bra and other clothing off the disgusting floor, stuffed it back in the bag, and promptly headed for the bus.

All these years later, I'm trying to remember why the bag was with me in the bowling alley and not kept on the bus. I have a feeling it has something to do with my teacher saying that we needed to take our belongings with us (theft reasons maybe?).

What I do remember is feeling horrified that I'd have to ride out the rest of the school year with the memory of my sad little bra laying there on the floor, everyone pointing and laughing (amplified in memory for maximum mortification).

And then, happily, I remembered it was "the last day". I'd be in junior high in the fall, and the kids from my class would probably forget all about the incident.

Now, I'd happily show off my bra to whoever wants to see. (Okay, not really, but this girl does need some action soon or she might forget how to do it altogether.)

Do you ever have moments where the feelings of a particular event come rushing back in a flood, causing a spontaneous "Oh f---!"?