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Filtering by Tag: memories

CURMUDGEON'S DAY

On a day such as this, I have to admit that I'm not such a big fan of a day such as this. It's not that I'm a curmudgeon, but I don't tend to care to partake in the expectation of romantic acts, the commercialization of sweet gestures, or the often trite means by which we choose to express ardor on this day. Er, maybe that does make me a curmudgeon.

I'd be lying, though, if I said I didn't feel a little something in the air on the day. Call it empathy, maybe, or perhaps a viral infection. Regardless, I do consider myself to be an incisive romantic when the mood strikes me, but I prefer to deal in exchanges that can be consumed again at will and ones that will not quite wither. And so do you. So here we are, me appreciating you appreciating me, relishing in just a few of my favorite moments from past days with no particular names, and you doing what it is you do while doing what it is you do to me.

Transient

LIFE WITH BOYS: EYE PATCH ZELDA

Having grown up with two older brothers--by 9 and 13 years--and having a tendency toward quiet observation, I was frequently exposed to the life and times of the adolescent male in a manner that many young girls are not fortunate enough (or willing enough) to behold. Despite my mom's well-meaning attempts to cultivate in me some qualities of femininity since my arrival directly out of the womb--with pink worldly goods, tap classes, exquisite perms, fanciful wedding planning, and other unfortunate activities and events--she was too preoccupied to sufficiently distract me from typically masculine topics that I observed and found inherently more interesting. Like stuff that's fun.*

I was fourth in line for the Nintendo in my household, so I grew happily accustomed to playing a supportive role of watching, helping, and sharing in the fleeting joys and sorrows of gaming. On one occasion, when I was around 4-years-old, my middle brother had a close encounter of the index finger kind during a trash basketball game, resulting in his having to wear an eye patch that I felt suited him well.** This meant he was free to play Zelda at his one-eyed leisure, and I was free to aid in his quest by sharing my Twix, which he insisted would improve the quality of the function for the important business of the still-functional eye. I did share my Twix, because Twix is meant to be shared and because it was important business. To this day I believe it made a difference.

* I didn't think so on days when I found myself with a laser tag vest strapped to my torso and no weapon to defend myself, but looking back, it was probably fun.
** I called to fact-check and was advised by middle brother that trash basketball is where young boys play a sports game with garbage. I was also advised that he actually had to wear an eye patch twice in his life, so far.

Transient