Okay folks, I hate to admit this, I really do, but I am homesick. This usually happens once or twice a year, but it seems for some reason to hit me more often than usual. I don’t know if it’s because I am finally turning into a lady, or menopause is hitting me up at 26 years old (if it is the menopause thing, FML, legit).
I am a very family oriented person. As you guys know by now, my family is big, trust me bigger is better. ALWAYS BETTER. Having a big family however, makes your realize how much you miss everything in each family members life. For instance, when I left to venture out this way at 17 years old, my baby sister was 10. Now, she’s 19 years old, already finished a year of school and is legal. LEGAL!!!
It’s crazy looking back at all the memories I’ve shared with my family. So, well I dwell a little on missing my folks back home; let me share with you some childhood stories spent with the family. The best way to spend a childhood I say.
When I was little, I never really wore clothes. Now, I know what you are thinking; makes sense little native girl running naked with maybe just maybe a loin cloth wrapped around her waist. But no friends, this is not the case. Most days after a bath, I would wrap bandanas around me (yes, I know similar to a loin cloth). For no reason really. It wasn’t that I wanted to be a super hero, or a paper bag princess, or that I wanted to instill a stylish trend in my family. It was that I was a fucked up little girl with a terrible mushroom cut and had too big of an imagination to understand it. Forgot to mention, with my ever so stylish bandana swag I always wore my ruby reds. This photo my friends, has haunted me throughout my entire life.
My grandmother collects these Royal Doulton figurines. They were displayed all over the house. I memorized all their names and everything. One night when grandma went off to play bridge with her golden girls; myself and my two older sisters decided to pull out the doll house and play with grandma’s Royal Doultons. Which looking back was kind of useless since they were made of glass so we couldn’t move the bitches. But it was still pretty cool back then. I tell you we felt like rebels. Still haven’t told grandma. For that grandma I am truly sorry. Maybe.(Grandman would have done the same).
Our dishwasher would break all the time when I was a child. For awhile, we had to physically clean our dishes. PHYSICALLY CLEAN THEM….OH THE HORROR!!!
One night after dinner, my brother brought us all downstairs to see the new NINTENDO 64. He was playing while all four of my sisters and I watched, amazed. Mom, was upstairs and kept yelling what sounded to me like jiberish. NonE of us were paying attention really. Our focus was on Mario’s quest to save Princess Peach. So after awhile of mom squaking at us, she starts throwing the pots and pans out the front door. We noticed, shrugged it off. BIG MISTAKE!
OUT OF NOWHERE, LIKE A WILD BEAST RAGING!!!! Mom storms downstairs into our peaceful video game experience rips the NINTENDO 64 out from the cords, and throws the damn system outside. Honestly, I’ve never been so dramatized in all my video game experiences IMy brother lost all of his progress because he didn’t save before mom raped the poor system. I’ve been an avid video game saver ever since.
Anyways, long story short, mom throws everything outside because none of us did the dishes. Dishes have never been so clean since then.
Every summer we take a long 8 hour trek up to grandma’s in a little town called, Wiarton. From Ottawa to Wiarton, with 8 people snug in a Van, plus one dog my claustrophobia hit the roof. One time, after a hot and sweaty ride, with the smell of dog and B O in the damn vehicle, I was literally sticking my head out the tiny opening of the window just to survive. I looked like a stoned kitty licking the air to rid myself of dry mouth. When we were finally pulling up grandma’s long drive way, I took off my seat belt, practically standing in the van, so excited to get the hell out this hot box. However, my dad hit the breaks real hard, which made my dog fling back, butt first.
I still remember it so vividly like it was yesterday. My poor, finger. My poor, poor dog. You see, when my dad hit the breaks, I lunged forward and my dog lunged backward. (I’m trying to find a poetic way to say this, but yeah it’s just not happening). My finger went in my dog’s butt. End of story.
Oddly, I think I’m done with flashing back to childhood memories. Yeah, the butt-finger thing pretty much does it. Regardless, there is still no place like home.