Part One: The Playground.

Do you remember some of the extremely weird and/or disgusting things you did as a child?  I do!  I can recall so many times when I rehashed a memory to someone and that person looked at me like I had a pus-filled zit in the middle of my forehead. When it comes to names, faces, encounters, funny incidents, etc. I believe I possess an above-average memory. However, ask me when your birthday is or how to get to/from an address (even if I’ve lived in that city for 14 years lol) and I will look at you like you’re pimple- faced.  Here I now present you with only a FEW of the un-ordinary things I can recall happening as a child. Apparently , I was “mean” and really strange (self-diagnosis). 

On the playground, kids don’t realize what they are putting in their mouths (nor do they care much) as long as their friends are doing it too.  I used to get a whole yearly supply of Rolaids from my uncle and so I exchanged them with my two best friends for Flintstones Vitamins, both of which we popped like candy.  Another of my favourite snacks was noodle soup – without the soup. Yes, I’m talking about the cellophane-packaged variety, and yes, I mean crunching some raw-ass noodles and dipping my finger into the flavour packet like it was Lik-‘N’Dip (don’t judge; I already mentioned before that I was strange). My mother told me I would get worms in my stomach.

Here I will segue into a little ditty about stomach worms. From the ages of 7-12, I was the scrawniest, shortest little runt of the family. No matter how much (junk) I ate, I never gained a pound. So family friends and my aunts (in addition to dear ‘ole momz) told me I must have tape worms in my stomach. I was appalled and so daily I’d stare at my little brown friends in the toilet and wait for them to bob up and down, swim, give me ANY kind of sign that there was life in there. I was told by said relatives that I should eat pineapple and that would flush out the worms. Alas, I hated pineapples (and still do), so until the little fkers moved in that toilet, I would be eating raw noodles for good! Twenty years later and close to no pineapples later, there is still no life swimming around in my excrement.

Back to the playground. I promised a friend I would tell her a story about eating grass because, well, I used to eat grass. I don’t mean pulling up clumps of it; rather, picking out the fat blades and, pulling from the root, nibbling the juicy white bottom part that tasted like cantaloupe.

Cantaloupes smell like garbage and I hate them.

Until I realized this was already a lengthy post, I was going to continue with the childhood stories. But for now, you must wait. You must come back again – REPEATEDLY – until my story ends!

Stay tuned for Part Two: Making Teachers and Other Little Kids Cry.