I think my mother must have been a saint.
Raising five children all born within a span of seven years must not have been an easy job. Especially when she was raising those children in various states and provinces as we followed my father who was busy chasing better and more lucrative jobs.
To say I was a model child would be an erroneous statement. I was the queen of slamming doors, stamping my feet and high drama. When I got angry everyone would hang onto their seats because Hurricane Karen was in the house making windows rattle as she loudly carried on her protests.
One day stands out in my mind. I’m not sure what caused the storm, but tired of stamping and slamming, this eight-year-old decided she would really drive her point home.
This is the scenario leading up to the driving the point home part.
Me: Stomp! Stomp! Stomp! I looked around and much to my chagrin no one appeared to notice a thing.
Me again: Stomp! Stomp! Stomp! across the floor to the door.
Yet again no reaction.
So I grabbed the door and with one mighty swing slammed it so hard that dishes rattled in the sink.
Much to my disappointment, I could see mom and dad in the living room totally oblivious to my antics.
Drastic times call for drastic measures, so I opened the fridge, and made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I then filled a container with Kool-Aid and threw it in a paper bag along with the sandwich.
Stomping to the door I shouted out to my parents, “I’m running away!”
Mom and dad never even blinked, so I punctuated my leaving with a mighty and loud slamming of the door.
I was free! The whole day stretched in front of me and I was heading out on a huge adventure.
The day was a beautiful sunny day — the kind of spring day which every Winnipegger appreciates. The sun warmed my face as I headed out down the railroad tracks nearby my home.
Hop, skipping and humming along the way, I would stop to snatch up an early spring flower, lay down in the grass and contemplate the clouds and occasionally sip on the sweet Kool-Aid.
It was a long day and all day long something I couldn’t quite pinpoint was niggling at me. It wasn’t until supper time that I realized what that niggling feeling was.
It was the growing understanding that one sandwich, now long eaten, wasn’t going to get me too far. Besides that, dusk was a short while away and I was by then a long way from home.
Realizing I had little choice, I ran like the wind for the comfort of home. By the time I arrived home I was a fright, my hair had been thoroughly whipped by the wind and there were dried tear stains down my dusty face.
When I ran in the house, my mother and father were, coincidently, in the same place as when I left. They never averted their eyes from the TV, nor did they greet me.
At the table was one plate with now cold supper. I greedily ate my meal and headed up to bed. It had been a long day.
I learned a lesson that day — a lesson which has served me well. Running away is not always the best option.
I also learned that high drama doesn’t always get the job done.
And I also learned that sometimes good parents choose to ignore such behaviour for the very reasons listed above.