04.02.12

Monday Dare: Running Away? Pack well. Trust me.

Every week, I challenge myself to a Monday Dare. You can click on the link if you’d like to see the complete list of Monday Dares or learn more about its origin.

This week: Share. Celebrate.

Remember that one time an essay I wrote ended up in a book? And some of you bought the book and I felt so goddamn lucky to know such awesome people? And other people *didn’t* buy the book, but I still felt so goddamn lucky to know such awesome people? Probably a little less awesome in my eyes now…but still a fairly good amount, so don’t worry.I’ve been looking forward to sharing this essay with you. We’ve gotten to know each other and like each other and commit crimes with each other. Wait, not the last one. Not yet anyway.

Thanks for listening. Thanks for being my friend.

____

“I am running away. I want you to have my CDs. Don’t scratch them.”

What did I know as an 18-year-old? I knew that I was pregnant. I knew that I was going to be a single mother. I knew that my parents wanted me to terminate my pregnancy. If I could just withstand their incessant prodding for five more weeks, I would pass the six-month mark, and the procedure would be illegal. I knew that I was running away. As soon as my best friend pulled into the driveway, I knew I would be without a home, without any money, and without a plan for the next five weeks.

I made the decision to run away the day before. I didn’t have to wait long for my chance. As soon as my mother left for the grocery store, I quickly called my best friend and I packed two garbage bags. With a teenager’s lack of forethought, I stuffed every pair of shoes I owned into one bag and three sweatshirts into the other plastic bag. I didn’t pack a clean change of underwear or any pants.

The only possessions I had given any thought to were my CDs. Every last cent I earned from odd jobs went into purchasing those CDs. They represented all my careless adventures and frivolous youthful indulgences.

I never let anyone touch them, but I knew I couldn’t bring them along. They would get lost or stolen while I shuffled around from one place to another, so I decided to leave them to my brother. But I didn’t trust him, and I couldn’t just leave them on his desk, lest the significance was lost on a 16-year-old. I decided to write a note.

“I am running away. I want you to have my CDs. Don’t scratch them.”

In that moment, as I wrote that note, I knew I was leaving behind any vestige of youth. I was stepping into adulthood.

I walked out of my childhood home with two garbage bags. As the car drove further and further away, I  couldn’t help but turn around and look one last time.

“He better not wreck those CDs.”

I never lived in that home again.

My daughter, Cal, recently turned 12.

April 2, 2012
02.27.12

Monday Dare: Mommy, I hope you don’t go to jail.

Every week, I challenge myself to a Monday Dare. You can click on the link if you’d like to see the full list of Monday Dares or learn more about its origin.

This week: Cut the cord. 

Sometimes, I still hold a mirror under Cal’s nose while she’s sleeping. The kid is 12.

I hear all these great things about giving your kid some space to grow, so I decided to give it a go recently by leaving Cal home alone for 47 minutes. I needed a new bottle of Goo Gone, and instead of dragging her to Target, where she gets preoccupied for long periods of time in the dollar section, I cut the cord.

When I got home, she gave me a long hug and said words that a child should probably never have to say to a parent- “Mommy, I hope you don’t go to jail.”

Jail?

“Grandma called while you were gone. I bragged that you left me at home alone, and she told me that was against the law.”

This from the woman who, on a family trip to Las Vegas, gave me twenty dollars and asked me to amuse myself for the afternoon while she played nickel slots. She also thought it best not to give me a room key…in case I lost it and some deviant soul picked it up, figured out which room it opened, and robbed us. I wandered the MGM Grand, had myself a nice little tuck-in at the buffet, bought a Highlights magazine, and befriended a janitor. Good times for a 10-year-old.

If you ever need to inject a little fun into your life, try calling your 60-year-old mother and opening with the line, “Don’t get it twisted, homegirl.” See how the rest of *that* conversation unfolds. Don’t worry, she’s still talking to me, but she does have a suspicious glint in her eyes now.

I’ve left Cal home alone several times since, but it’s always nerve-wracking, and I can’t focus on what I’m doing. I always thought I’d be a cool parent, but clearly, if left to my own devices, I am anything but.

Did you have overprotective parents? Are YOU an overprotective parent?
image via knockknock.biz

February 27, 2012