Tuesday, November 28, 2006

wait, what?

As far back as I can remember, my mother avoided speaking of anything related to the past at all costs. She's tried different tactics over the years: leaving the room when a story was being told, getting angry when my dad would go "remember that babe?", having a sudden case of amnesia and interrupting the story with "when did that happen!?!", etc. Mostly the getting angry tactic is what resonates in my memory section. I never understood what her problem was with the past. It was a blanket reaction, there was nothing I could pin point as a trigger. It was just the past in general.

  • The time my dad shaved his beard, and the dog Ceiba freaked the hell out and my brother, "T", hid under the bed crying because he thought my Dad was a stranger--this was before I was even born, or as my father would say "when you were a twinkle in your mother's eye."

  • Whenever I bring up our ancestory and like, ya know, where the hell I come from.

  • Stories of my mother's grandmother, who used to make my Dad homemade tortillas which he would eat with butter, cinnamon and sugar. (btw, you must try it if you have never had it--so good) My father and my great-grandmother would communicate via sign language since my great-grandmother spoke zero english and my father spoke zero spanish.

  • The time my brother, T, worshipped Evil Knievel and rode his bike up a ramp and did some crazy jump. T is like michael jordan in that when he does something that requires concentration, he sticks his tongue out. So when he hit the ground, he bit his tongue in half. The story goes that just after that happened, the boys got called in for dinner. Pot Roast. Everyone started eating after grace except for T. My father yelled at him to start eating. So T took a bite, and then his eyes welled up with tears. My father, losing his tiny amount of patience, begins yelling at T while at the same time acting concerned--Ya know..."T! WHAT IS WRONG! EAT YOUR FOOD!" T, silent up to this point, begins to sob and opens his mouth and ... out flops his tongue which is hanging on by a ... yeah...eww! and ouchy!

  • The time T, who wore glasses as a kid, enjoyed sticking his head out the window like dogs like to do. On the ride home from the optometrist, T thought this would be a grand idea and woosh! there went the brand new glasses.

  • How cute T was when he was a kid and wanted so much to be like his big brothers. W and Bubba would be sitting on the curb next to each other and T would come over and squish himself between the two of them.

  • The time I wandered off in the grocery store (there was a toy section in our grocery store, there's no resisting that), when I got tired of checking out the toys I figured it was time to start looking for my dad. I walked down the front of the store peering down each aisle looking for him. I found him after a few aisles, he was looking for me also and looking pretty pissed about it. I tried to soften him up by being funny and yelled out "THERE YOU ARE YA BASTARD!" heh.

  • The time my mother took the boys ice skating and they were skating along holding hands and one of them fell bringing the whole party down. My mom broke her wrist. oopsy :(

  • How when I started walking I would put my arms out in front of me, elbows bent and wrists limp. Yes. The prissyness began at a very early age it seems.

  • How W was both my brothers hero. When W got a newspaper route, they wanted to help. There was a prize for getting the most subscriptions. The prize was a day at AstroWorld! So they helped and they won. T was so excited the night before that he made himself sick and couldn't go :(

  • I've gone off on a tangent again

Anyway, point is anytime ANYTHING from the past came up she would flip out and get really angry.

I have noticed, however, that in recent years it is now my mother who is the one who brings up and tells stories from the *gasp* past.

Take this past holiday trip for example. She brought up someone named "Richard" and told this story about how my grandmother was thawing a turkey out on the counter and he saw the naked bird and flipped out and started crying.

Me: uh. hey mom? Who is Richard?

Mom: Oh. He was my brother. You didnt know him. He died when he was 4.

Me: Wait! You had another brother! What did he die of?

Mom: Yeah. His name was Richard he was younger than Rachel but older than Jerry, he died of Leukemia.

Is it just weird only to find out about additional siblings of your parents when you are almost 30 or is it just me?

oh and!

Apparently I am not Spanish from Spain! No! Im Mexican from Mexico!

I dunno why but that really stunned me.

Wonder what other little nuggets I will learn as time goes on...

1 comment:

  1. I always KNEW you were mexican from Mexico!!! I just had a hunch. hehe

    Parents are weird.