Andy over at Wild ARS Chase, is featuring a "Getting To Know You" segment on his blog.
I promised I'd participate, so here goes!
I often tell my mother how lucky she is to have had me as a child.
I slept through the night at a very early age, I entertained myself and I provided comic relief.
As awesome as my memory is now, I feel like I don’t remember lots of things from my childhood. When I do remember things it’s because I’ve seen photographs. So I don’t know if I’m truly remembering an actual event, or looking at a photograph and that's serving as my memory
My mother, however, has a wonderful memory when it comes to my childhood. (I would be worried if she didn’t, since I was an only child, she only has only one set of “firsts” and memories to recall).
One of my mother’s favorite stories to tell is from when I was about 3 years old.
It is circa 1978 and we are driving on the parkway in her orange Gremlin. (NOTE: my grandfather, channeling his inner artiste, had painted black racing stripes on the sides of the car. Yeah. We were bad ass.)
It’s winter, so the road is a bit icy and has been covered in sand to help prevent slipping.
I am in the backseat of the Gremlin in my car seat (I’m sure if this was today, my mother would be breaking a million baby laws – ie, the car seat is in the wrong seat, I’m barely buckled in, I shouldn’t have Schnapps in my sippee cup, blah blah blah).
My mother takes the exit a little too fast (her lead foot MIGHT be hereditary), and the little Gremlin tires lose traction on the sandy ramp. The car skids sideways off the road into the guardrail. We hit with such force that we actually move the guardrail until we are pinned against it, teetering over an embankment.
My mother sucks in her breath (THIS is her trademark, I wish this blog had sound), gripping the wheel. She's scared we almost died. She's worried how we'll get home. She's scared my dad is going to kill her.
All is quiet in the back seat. She turns around to see if I'm okay.
I'm sitting there, staring at her, silent.
Finally, my little voice pipes up: “Mom, you broke the car.”
(See? Even back then, in stressful situations, I was calm, cool, and collected.)