My mom and I made our way to the Roses shopping store. I guess that is what you call it. It is hardly an upscale department store. I was around 9 years old.
My first memory of this store was on the kitchen utensil isle. This memory stands out not because we racked up on some shopping but rather because of the mess I made. Little ole Angie was fiddling with the serving spoons, the forks, knives, etc. And my mother had already told me one time to stop it and like any other kid that listens well, I kept fiddling.
I took notice of a set of forks/spoons that were tangled and made an effort to get them straight. OCD can start as a child. As I tugged and pulled and twisted on those utensils the entire shelf came down. I am not talking one shelf, I am talking the entire wall. Utensils went flying everywhere. The noise itself would have woke the dead. I looked at my mom fearing for my life and she looked at me and said, "now what are we going to do about that?" Then she grabbed my hand turned with the buggy/shopping cart (depending on which part of the world you are from) and we walked away.
I was scared out of my mind. All the way home all I could say was, "please don't tell daddy." I wasn't sure of much but I was sure I didn't want my legs switched. She confirmed that she was going to tell my daddy and that he would be the one handling the punishment, especially since she had already told me to leave them alone. My failure to listen and my OCD was going to be my downfall.
We arrived home and parked the Nova on the hill to ensure we would get a good roll back for the next adventure since the transmission was shot to hell. I slowly got out of the car and made my way to the trailer with the two front doors, dragging my feet in the red dirt (grass wouldn't grow), with head hung low. It was definitely a walk of shame. I made it last for as long as I could.
I entered the trailer and made my way past the bathroom with the door off the hinges and mine and my brothers room with the set of bunk beds, a twin bed and one dresser. I plopped on the couch that was directly across from our wood burning heater. And waited......
Once my dad came through the other front door he made his way to the recliner beside the couch across from the wood burning heater. And my mom began to tell him the story.
I immediately felt very nervous and a lump came to my throat. I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes and my heart was pounding so hard I was certain the mice could hear it.
As she finished telling him the story they both looked at me and started to laugh. They laughed that uncontrollable laugh that makes your belly hurt. I was a little confused. My dad looked at me and said, "now from now on do what you are told or the next time I will get cha ass."
I looked at him and nodded. I left the room wondering what just happened.
Twenty seven years and three kids later I know what happened. Kids can and will do some outrageous things. Some are those moments when they deserve a harsh punishment, maybe a spanking and then there are those moments when the punishment is the fear of the father itself and a spanking isn't necessary.
They weren't laughing at me as much as they were laughing at the situation with all the utensils flying off the wall, people staring and me and mom getting the hell out of dodge. They knew I had suffered enough on the ride home and that itself was my punishment.
Me personally, I am okay with that. I never liked my legs getting a switching. It stings.
p.s. These heels have no relevance to this story. I just happen to like them.
No comments:
Post a Comment