Childhood Memories (Part 3)

Leaving some kids unsupervised for any amount of time can often lead to disaster. Looking back, I could have been one of those kids. But heck, I turned out alright.

One day during elementary school (I no longer recall how old I was anymore), I was alone at home. I had just filled an empty Danish butter cookies tin with water and put the lid on tightly. Who knows exactly why I was doing that, but kids with copious amounts of time on their hands tend to do strange things.

With a shared fascination with many kids my age, it seemed only appropriate to learn about fire by way of experimentation. So in the kitchen, I decided to light a piece of letter-sized paper on fire to watch it burn. Tipping the flame downwards, I managed to grow the fire to a mini blaze eating quickly away at the sheet. So large was this fire that I started to panic. Cleverly I thought "I'll just throw this away into the kitchen garbage." Our kitchen garbage was usually a plastic bag doubled in a large paper Safeway bag. So, I tossed the sheet of paper on top of the garbage, you know, hoping somehow the flame would miraculously extinguish.

Yet for some strange reason, the flame not only didn't get smaller, the garbage caught fire. Of course, I panicked even further. I couldn't get water from the sink to the garbage, so I did the next best thing - I got my Danish cookie container that I had filled with water not much earlier to pour its contents over the fire. But, with my fast-beating heart and my shaking hands, I couldn't manage the lid off the tin. So, I shook the sealed tin over the garbage, hoping water would gush out between the tin and its lid, putting an end to the inferno building in my parents' kitchen. Well, water did come out, but they only in mere drips. So with the same intelligence that got me into Engineering school, I ran to the washroom to grab my towel. "That's it, I'll blow the fire out."

Back in the kitchen with my towel, I frantically flapped my towel up and down vigorously at my new-found fireplace. And wouldn't you believe it... IT DIDN'T HELP. Finally, after the fire had incinerated the garbage bags down to the floor, it decided that I had learned enough of a lesson, and it didn't need to continue to burn the rest of the house down. It stopped.

Now I'm not sure how the rest of my day went from there on, but I'm sure I got into plenty of well-deserved sh!t from my folks. Maybe they'll remind me after they read this blog.

Childhood Memories (Part 2)

We never had babysitters come to our house when we were growing up. Although when we were smaller, we would be taken to an auntie's house after school until our parents could pick us up after work.

So, when my parents were out of the house, I was usually left unsupervised - save by my brother and sister who probably didn't pay much attention to me. Dad and mom would lock their room door when they left the house, and it was probably a wise idea with mischievous kids like me. Unfortunately, wedging a folded piece of paper between the latch and the door frame is usually enough to successfully commit 'B&E for Kids'. Then I would go into their abandoned room, sit on the floor and watch TV (sometimes with a bowl of afternoon cereal). From time to time, I would fish for a few coins from the ring dish my mother used for her jewelry which also doubled as a loose change Petri. Other times, I would sleep in their bed.

The sound of an approaching car in the back driveway or the rumble of an opening garage door was my 2 minute warning for a getaway. Then I would tiptop towards the bedroom window which overlooked the driveway, and lift a corner of the window curtain, careful not to create too much movement which might give away my position. Once I had confirmed that the Eagle had in fact landed, I would take quick quiet strides towards the door, locking it and closing it on my way out -- cereal bowl in hand.

The most important element to burglary is not to leave a trace.

I would like to assure my parents (who read my blog) that I don't steal anymore, and that I'm sorry for the atrocities I've committed. Ummm... Ben told me to do it.

Childhood Memories (Part 1)

I just finished reading Running with Scissors by Augusten Burroughs, which is apparently "Now a Major Motion Picture".

While reading Augusten recount his childhood tales, it reminded me of some of things I did as a young child. No, I didn't live nearly as crazy a life as his book describes, and I'm not gay and I didn't walk in on the Minister's wife going down on my poet mom. But this book kind of reminds me of how silly an adolescent's logic is and their way of thinking.

So, I've decided to write a few short memories from my long-forgotten childhood. Hopefully my family will forgive me for the wrong I'd caused, even if they didn't know about it until now.

Story ONE:

My first memory conjured up by Running with Scissors brings me back to Grade 3. Mrs. Travis's class. She had a young student teacher teaching some classes here and there. I don't remember her name now, but I'm sure it's for the better. Anyway, in my innocent 8-year old eyes, I almost loved her. She was a doll. A really pretty blond and the kindest human - particularly when standing next to a jagged Mrs. Travis. And I guess the reason I most fondly remember her was because of one day when she wore a summer dress. That day, when she bent over to speak to me, her dress collar hung down exposing her naked bosom for a young mind to absorb. Remarkable. Well, truth be told, I don't remember if she was wearing a bra or not. But for an 8-year old kid, seeing a woman's bare breast or seeing her bra is equally fantastic. Though if my memory serves me right (or maybe I only choose to remember what I please), she let them fall naturally. God bless student teachers.