conuly

kibbles mentioned that it sounded like I went through a rough time growing up. Well, yes and no. Fact is, I typed that last post because I was upset (at

kibbles, actually, though she didn't deserve it), so I was typing until I stopped being upset.

So to even it up a bit, I'm posting a few more things about my childhood, which aren't quite so negative. Well, I hope not, anyway. I'm still not in a great mood, so I'm still typing without thinking, so who knows what'll happen?

Our apartment on 18th avenue was enormous. Huge front room (my parents' room). Huge living room. Tiny den. Smallish kitchen. My room. Huge Jenn's room - which housed the computer, two desks, a wardrobe, a bunk bed, a chest of drawers, a toy box, and had room for an entire card table with chairs. Or a christmas tree, whatever.

We had a cat who could climb straight up and down ladders. Well, just up, not down. I miss him. He used to sit and chew my clothes to bits, and I was the only one who would let him do that. He was best friends with our dog, Midnight. I carried her around as a tiny puppy until my dad made me stop. She grew up to be a rather large dog.

Despite my not-quite-patriotic view of this country, Independance day is my favorite holiday. The fireworks on 18th avenue were apparently paid for by the mob. I never cared. They were right above us, and sitting on the roof they would pound into your soul. I could see the bridge, the Verrazano from there.

I don't like figs. I don't like that they bleed white when you pick them (though I don't mind this trait in dandelions, it scares me with figs). But Jenn (Ginger) and Daddy loved them, so I used to go down to the yard on 18th avenue to pick figs for them, and carry them up.

We used to go skating Thurdays ("if kids can get out of class to go to religious instruction, why not skating? "n retrospect, I think my father was rather anti-religion....). We'd ride the train all the way into Manhattan, over the water. Two kids in a train car with just their dad? Gymnastics.

Had to memorize "the rules" nearly every trip. If you get into a train by yourself, get off at the next stop and wait for us. If we get into a train and you don't, go against the wall, or into the center of the platform, and wait for us. We'll come get you, but if you wander about trying to get us, we'll miss each other. But the only time that I ever got into a train by myself, and the doors closed, Daddy yelled at the conductor, so.

As a reward for good behaviour at the orthodontist every month, I got two books. I was supposed to get two books. But I'd read some in the store while my dad picked out his books, and I could generally convince him to let me get an extra. I worry that I'm doing the same to Ana. Spoiled rotten, she is.

We never did get my bottom teeth straightened properly. Daddy died, and... things just fell apart (things fall apart, the center cannot hold).

When I had to have my wisdom teeth extracted, my dad, right before they put me under, had to remind the nurse not to give me too much "like that woman who accidentally killed her own child". It took another several minutes to re-convince me to let this happen. I was ready to have them pull the teeth out while awake. Or not at all.

Skinnybones (the aforementioned cat) once chased a bird into my room. Poor bird. I chased it out again without much trouble. It probably died anyway. Well, it'd be dead by now no matter what.

The gem room in the natural history museum is the best place to play tag.

The Met is a close second.

The last time I remember visiting my Grand in Texas before Daddy died, he mentioned something about "never flying American", because American planes are terrorist targets. He couldn't've been saying that to me, I was just a little kid, but I remembered it on 9/11.

When we were little, I went to the library after school a lot. They were used to seeing me go in and out of there with my own books, so they never stopped me. One day, I took out a copy of the All-of-a-kind Family without stopping to check it out properly. I honestly didn't realize what I was doing until we were nearly home, but by then it was too late to go back, so I read it over the weekend.

But when I left my toys there once, we went back for them. We lived closer then, though.

I can still remember how that bathroom stank. Ew.

Jenn's first boyfriend was Belgian. Belgian-Americans are everywhere. It's like some not-so-secret secret organization. If you bring this up in class, though, you risk later running into people who knew you, and grin every time they're in class with you, because every class can turn into a discussion on Belgium if you try hard enough. Except maybe math class.

I've had some teachers whom I really liked. Mr. Olsen, Crazy-Physics-Teacher. Mussolivi, Crazy-History-Teacher. Ms. Hall, Crazy-Music-Teacher. I trust you've noted the theme. The two teachers who talked to guidance about me and told guidance that they thought I was crazy? NOT ON MY LIST.

I feel kinda sorry for the second teacher, actually, who didn't get the "my sinuses are killing me" joke when she brought up "sinusoidal" curves.

Yeah, there's more. My childhood can't be summed up in two posts.

The other one was better. I thought too much while posting this. On the other hand, I trust this shows that my life wasn't terrible, horrible, no good, very bad (one of my favorite picture books).