Posted in life

Stream of Consciousness Childhood

My mom’s birthday was in May, so she got Mother’s Day presents and birthday presents. My Dad’s birthday was in February, so he got Valentine’s Day junk and birthday presents. My sister’s birthday is in December, so she got Christmas presents and birthday presents. My birthday is in July, so I didn’t get any extra junk. Not even a cake at school, because there is no school in the Summer.

Not that it was a big deal, though. I was that kid that circled everything in the Christmas edition of the Sears and J.C. Penney catalogues. My sister circled about 2 or 3 things. I usually got everything I wanted. Except for one thing. A Charlie McCarthy ventriloquist doll. I asked for it three years in a row. It was always the first thing I searched for. Nada.

For some reason, I wanted to be a ventriloquist. I would put a sock on my hand and practice in the mirror. I sucked. If I got Charlie I would be better. It never happened.

Now, I’m glad that I never got it. Those things are creepy looking. Especially those old ones. Shudder.

I got a spirograph for my 9th birthday. I was excited. I had been asking for months. Ten minutes after I opened it my mom broke the third gear. That was the one that made the best designs.

When I was 11, I wanted an Electroshot Shooting Gallery by Marx. I saw it in the top of the hall closet 2 days before Christmas. I was excited and told my friend I was getting one. My mom overheard the conversation and got mad. She said I wasn’t getting it now. I did.

One time, in August, my sister and I found a Barbie Dreamhouse stuffed in the back of the pantry. Santa had forgotten to put it out at Christmas. Later on, we found a busted kid’s movie projector that showed cartoons shoved in the back of a drawer.

When I was 14, I wanted a drum set. I got a drum set, without a high hat. How was a supposed to play Theme from Shaft without a high hat? Was it hiding in a closet somewhere?

Sometimes, I wonder if there is an old creepy Charlie McCarthy dummy hidden somewhere in one of the old houses we used to live in. We moved a lot.

My 12th birthday was 6 days after the Apollo 11 moon landing. I got a moon cake with a rocket on it. It had mounds of purple and brown icing. Those two colors are ugly together. I ate mostly icing and got sick. Throwing up variegated icing is like throwing up Neapolitan ice cream. It makes spin art in the toilet.

One time, this kid David Treece, put his fist through a window. I piece of glass flew and stuck in my sister’s forehead. A few months later a tried to use a putter as a driver and hit him in the forehead. He got 5 stitches and I got in major trouble.

One time, I put a plastic wig on sister’s head, backwards, so she couldn’t see. Then I spun her around and told her to find me. She was dizzy and fell down the stairs. Another time, I hit her in the mouth with a croquet ball and knocked out a tooth. Accidentally, of course.

When I was 18, I forget I had stitches in my chin, and drug the razor right over them. The razor got stuck in them.

When I was 14, I shoved a wrench down in my arm cast (because I was stupid) and couldn’t get it out. I had to go back to the hospital and get it cut off.

When I was in college, I shared a trailer with my sister and my best friend Jack. My sister was watching The Love Boat, I was studying for a European History test, and Jack was washing dishes. Jack broke a glass while using one of those sponges for glasses and a big hunk of glass went into his wrist. Blood was spurting everywhere. We all freaked out. We got in my sister’s VW and drove him to the hospital.

I could go on for days about all of the injuries. Sitting on a nail. Head stuck in a see saw. Juggling knives. Chemistry set accidents. Using a yoyo as a helicopter blade over the head. Bare foot in bicycle spokes. Etc.

Why am I writing this? Gee, I don’t know. It started with My Mom’s birthday was in May and ended up here.

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