Belong To Me
Belong To Me
Kinda like being in a foreign country, you never know what you may be referring to…
I told my daughters this morning that they’d need to take a sack lunch to school tomorrow, and they laughed at me. I wasn’t expecting them to laugh.
It took me a moment to realize why they thought sack lunch was funny. When I was their age (around 35 years ago), sack lunch wasn’t funny. I carried a sack lunch to school every day, and nobody laughed. I think I even called it a sack lunch. Everybody called it that. But somewhere along the way, kids picked up on the word sack, and a new source of humor was created.
Now I can’t say sack in front of my daughters; I have to say “brown paper bag.” If I had two sons, maybe it wouldn’t matter much. But…
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Last October, a US Navy Veteran and retired pipe fitter, Howard Kamarata, was working on a home project and the miter saw he was using grabbed the piece of wood he was holding and threw it toward him and his left hand slipped under the blade.
He had cut off four of his fingers, just above the middle knuckles and the surgeons were only able to save the pinky finger, leaving him with 3 nubs where his pointer, middle and ring fingers use to be.
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It takes a hardy soul to do this kind of camping in the Minnesota spring. Even in May it gets more than a mite chilly at night along the shore of Lake Superior.
I raised my children camping along this beautiful lake that is more an ocean than lake. It’s huge, beautiful and crisp! Much too cold to swim, but utterly irresistible to experience walking along the shore. Once you pitch a tent and build a campfire your hooked! It’s serenity draws you into nature.
The smell of woodsmoke, the sounds of waves lapping along the shoreline takes you to another world away from the hustle and bustle of city living.
I’m happy to have been part of passing this along to my children and them to theirs. I was here only in spirit for the scenes shown, but was still part of it for I know I helped them fall in love with the experience!
On the commute from work this evening the radio hosts were talking about remembering that first kiss.
While I’m sure they were referring to the teenage years, the topic pushed me much further back in time. Flashback to 2nd grade and a little boy with a huge crush on me that he didn’t bother to hide very well. I don’t even know if we’re capable of hiding our feelings at that age.
My parents picked me up at school that fateful day and for some reason gave this little boy a ride home, much to my chagrin! You see, I didn’t particularly like this little boy! I didn’t really have a reason to dislike him. He never did anything to annoy me except having this ridiculous crush. Which probably means he was always under foot, staring way too much and pestering me.
Of course they stick both of us in the backseat, which means he was too close for my comfort zone. He was in my space. Well, I withstood it out all the way to his house and thought good, now he’ll be gone, it’s over!
I had managed to survive what felt like a long, long ride! It was almost over thank goodness, all he had to do was get out of the car.
Then he did the unthinkable. This 7-year-old came at me with a purpose. I could see he had been laying his plan the whole time. He laid the biggest kiss on my cheek, jumped out of the car and never looked back! I died a thousand deaths of humiliation and anger!
I couldn’t wipe it off my face fast enough! Of course my Mother thought it was cute, even sweet. She tried explaining that he simply liked me, I knew he’d liked me. The point was I didn’t like him.
Sure I look back at it as funny now. But did I ever forgive him? Nope!