It's true that once my parents left me at a visitor's information rest stop at the Florida-Alabama border. I was about eight or night years old at the time and the only thing I can recall from the experience is thinking something along the lines of: SON OF A BITCH. I AM GOING TO MISS THE GODDAMNED MAGIC KINGDOM.
For years after this event, if I brought it up my mother would say: "Oh, shut up. We came back for you, didn't we?" Which is true. They totally had me back in their possession within 10 minutes, but that brief separation cost them 500 or so miles of me whining incessantly over the experience. It finally took one GIGANTIC stuffed Minnie Mouse later for me to agree to stop telling everyone I bumped into at Disney World that I had been abandoned during the trip down.
I was pretty much silent about the incident for the next decade or so, save for the yearly or so comment I'd make whenever we were on vacation and pulling into a rest area. I found it physically impossible to not announce that I AM GOING TO THE BATHROOM, DO NOT LEAVE ME AGAIN. To which my parents rolled their eyes and fought the urge to burn rubber out of the parking lot while I was still in the can.
It wasn't until a rather horrific turn of events occurred when I was a senior in high school that I began harping again on my abandonment. That summer, a couple of women were found murdered and their bodies dumped at that very roadside park. I'm sure Mama and Daddy questioned: OF ALL THE REST AREAS IN AMERICA, WHY THAT ONE. WHY? Admittedly, I wouldn't shut up about it.
After the murders – which were never solved, by the way -- inevitably my roadside park incident would resurface ever so often. When I was a freshman in college, my parents met some of my freshman friends and those "friends" prompted my folks to tell embarrassing stories about me.
Not to be outdone by the tales of my youth, I interjected: "Well, why don't yall tell them about how you abandoned me at a rest area in Florida where all those women were murdered?"
To which my mother – without batting an eye – replied: "Oh, honey, that NEVER happened."
My mouth dropped open. WHAT? YES IT DID SOOOO HAPPEN. I GOT THAT GIANT STUFFED MINNIE MOUSE BECAUSE OF THE GUILT YOU FELT! REMEMBER?
My mother: "No, you got Minnie Mouse because it was your birthday."
YOU LEFT ME AT A ROADSIDE PARK.
Then my parents both laughed as if to say: "Pay no attention to our crazy daughter. Sometimes her medicine makes her hallucinate."
YOU KNOW YOU LEFT ME AT THE REST AREA!
More polite smiles and dismissive laughter.
OH MY GOD, YOU ARE MAKING ME LOOK INSANE! YOU LEFT ME!
Then they turned their heads in unison, wrinkled their brows as if thinking things through then shook their heads.
"No, I don't remember anything about a roadside park," my father said. "But I do recall you falling down the stadium stairs wearing a bass drum…"
Cut to last Friday night.
I'd been having a crap week so the husband decided to take me on a proper date, which was delightful and sweet and so so so reminding of why I married him.
Well, when we got home after 12 hours away from our house, two dogs and one cat greeted us.
WAIT.
Two dogs? Someone is missing? WHERE IS DEUCE?
The Aggie and I searched the entire house for the little monster, but he was nowhere to be found. In my mind, I imagined a gaggle of dog-snatching ninjas stealing my baby. My poor sweet little Deuce had been stolen, from our house. OH MY GOD. Call the police, I said. We've been robbed. My poor dog has been taken.
Then I remembered! I saw this on 20/20! High-end dogs taken from their homes and sold on the black puppy market. My poor little Deuce sold into doggy slavery. Oh Lord, tell me he put up a fight!
That's when the Aggie informed me that Deuce isn't what you'd consider "high-end."
BUT HE IS PUREBRED, I argued.
Apparently neutered, house pets in middle-income neighborhoods aren't exactly the million dollar show dogs people are stealing.
But if he wasn't stolen where could he be!!! I was this|close to tears when we heard scratching and turned to see Deuce standing at the sliding glass door.
"OH!," the Aggie said. "I forgot to let him in before I left, I guess."
And so it is that we have become our parents.
Starting tomorrow, I will claim it never happened.
For years after this event, if I brought it up my mother would say: "Oh, shut up. We came back for you, didn't we?" Which is true. They totally had me back in their possession within 10 minutes, but that brief separation cost them 500 or so miles of me whining incessantly over the experience. It finally took one GIGANTIC stuffed Minnie Mouse later for me to agree to stop telling everyone I bumped into at Disney World that I had been abandoned during the trip down.
I was pretty much silent about the incident for the next decade or so, save for the yearly or so comment I'd make whenever we were on vacation and pulling into a rest area. I found it physically impossible to not announce that I AM GOING TO THE BATHROOM, DO NOT LEAVE ME AGAIN. To which my parents rolled their eyes and fought the urge to burn rubber out of the parking lot while I was still in the can.
It wasn't until a rather horrific turn of events occurred when I was a senior in high school that I began harping again on my abandonment. That summer, a couple of women were found murdered and their bodies dumped at that very roadside park. I'm sure Mama and Daddy questioned: OF ALL THE REST AREAS IN AMERICA, WHY THAT ONE. WHY? Admittedly, I wouldn't shut up about it.
After the murders – which were never solved, by the way -- inevitably my roadside park incident would resurface ever so often. When I was a freshman in college, my parents met some of my freshman friends and those "friends" prompted my folks to tell embarrassing stories about me.
Not to be outdone by the tales of my youth, I interjected: "Well, why don't yall tell them about how you abandoned me at a rest area in Florida where all those women were murdered?"
To which my mother – without batting an eye – replied: "Oh, honey, that NEVER happened."
My mouth dropped open. WHAT? YES IT DID SOOOO HAPPEN. I GOT THAT GIANT STUFFED MINNIE MOUSE BECAUSE OF THE GUILT YOU FELT! REMEMBER?
My mother: "No, you got Minnie Mouse because it was your birthday."
YOU LEFT ME AT A ROADSIDE PARK.
Then my parents both laughed as if to say: "Pay no attention to our crazy daughter. Sometimes her medicine makes her hallucinate."
YOU KNOW YOU LEFT ME AT THE REST AREA!
More polite smiles and dismissive laughter.
OH MY GOD, YOU ARE MAKING ME LOOK INSANE! YOU LEFT ME!
Then they turned their heads in unison, wrinkled their brows as if thinking things through then shook their heads.
"No, I don't remember anything about a roadside park," my father said. "But I do recall you falling down the stadium stairs wearing a bass drum…"
Cut to last Friday night.
I'd been having a crap week so the husband decided to take me on a proper date, which was delightful and sweet and so so so reminding of why I married him.
Well, when we got home after 12 hours away from our house, two dogs and one cat greeted us.
WAIT.
Two dogs? Someone is missing? WHERE IS DEUCE?
The Aggie and I searched the entire house for the little monster, but he was nowhere to be found. In my mind, I imagined a gaggle of dog-snatching ninjas stealing my baby. My poor sweet little Deuce had been stolen, from our house. OH MY GOD. Call the police, I said. We've been robbed. My poor dog has been taken.
Then I remembered! I saw this on 20/20! High-end dogs taken from their homes and sold on the black puppy market. My poor little Deuce sold into doggy slavery. Oh Lord, tell me he put up a fight!
That's when the Aggie informed me that Deuce isn't what you'd consider "high-end."
BUT HE IS PUREBRED, I argued.
Apparently neutered, house pets in middle-income neighborhoods aren't exactly the million dollar show dogs people are stealing.
But if he wasn't stolen where could he be!!! I was this|close to tears when we heard scratching and turned to see Deuce standing at the sliding glass door.
"OH!," the Aggie said. "I forgot to let him in before I left, I guess."
And so it is that we have become our parents.
Starting tomorrow, I will claim it never happened.
3 comments:
stadium steps and bass drum...i think that is a memory that I recall, but won't harp on it.... I love your blog...Honey, hearing your stories make me feel "not so out there"!
haaa haaa -- I can't help but laugh because coming a parent has taught me MANY similar lessons!
I so enjoy reading your thoughts!
Jennie
i just can't remember something like that happening. i don't think it did. i asked granny pug and agrees with me. we are not saying something did not happen, just not that exact incident.
popeye
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