What is your worst childhood memory? Sam
Her:
It’s funny when you are a child and you have your worst possible day. It feels like the world has ended, life is over, and the pain is too much to bear. When you’re young, it is hard to imagine the reasons for these hard moments, what happiness could be waiting around the corner, and what good could possibly come of such bad days. Living moment-to-moment is the greatness of childhood, which I guess is what makes bad days so earth-shattering.
When my parents told my sister and me they were getting a divorce, I was, quite literally, shocked. Some of my friends had been, or were going through the same thing, and I knew they were all surviving. My situation was different. I had never even seen my parents fight. We attended church, family events, and vacations together regularly. I never knew they had disagreements or had grown apart. Looking back now, I know they were trying to shield us from pain. But because we were so shielded, we were completely unprepared. Thousands of children see their folks split up, and I imagine every family’s story is a bit different. But they are also the same in that the “norm” of your childhood life is over, change is coming, and yep…it’s going to hurt.
Knowing what I do now, I would tell my childhood self a few things; that this is a very small bump in the road of my life, that both of my parents would go on to find solid, long-lasting relationships, that they would always strive to get along and make family celebrations drama-free, and that both my sister and I would have strong, happy marriages. But mostly, I would tell myself that time heals all wounds. It’s hard to wait patiently while things get easier and you find your new normal. But time is a great healer, and life does go on. And happiness is literally right around the corner, you just have to go find it.
Him:
My childhood was actually pretty great and thankfully I don’t have any terrible memories. So instead, I’ll share several that were frightening, embarrassing, a little sad, or somehow memorable.
Pre-school Camp From Hell - Ok, the camp probably wasn’t that bad, but I wasn’t very keen to go in the first place. I was an anxious kid, and not psyched about spending several afternoons with strangers. Around lunchtime, day one, a police officer showed up for some Q&A. Everything was fine until he unholstered and discharged his firearm. I’m sure it was a safe and well thought out demonstration, but to my four-year-old brain, it was bonkers! And so began a lifelong distrust of, and distaste for camps.
The White Helmet - We moved around a lot when I was young and one destination was San Antonio, Texas. Like all good parents, mine enrolled me in various sports leagues to help me make friends. I was good at baseball, so that worked well. In the Fall, most of my friends were playing football. I came from a soccer background (if you can call CYC a background), and didn’t know how to play football. My dad played in college, so I figured why not? We’ll because I sucked at it, that’s why. As the season progressed, the starters collected glorious streaks and scars all over their helmets. At the same time, a smaller group of us had helmets that were conspicuously white and increasingly so with every passing week.
So the white helmet club came up with a scheme. One afternoon, we spent an entire practice hitting, tackling and striking each other as fiercely as we could. For good measure, we threw the helmets around a bit and gave them a few stomps. The helmets looked sufficiently battle scared. One problem though; all of the scuffs, scratches, and gouges were in the color scheme of our uniform (light blue and red if memory serves). Needless to say, this did not go unnoticed by our razor sharp, more pubescent teammates. They didn’t give us too much shit, but it was really embarrassing. I stuck with football, but from that point on, good or bad (usually bad) my helmet perfectly reflected my on-field exploits.
The Bolo Tie - For some now un-rememberable and inexplicable reason, I decided to wear a bolo tie to school in 8th grade. I’m sure a celebrity I admired and imagined myself as a younger version of, had worm one publicly.
Let me tell you, if they suffered a fraction of the ridicule I experienced that day, not only did they never wear one again, but their stylist was threatened with termination for even suggesting this exotic accessory. DO NOT WEAR A BOLO TIE, EVER!
Inglorious Wrestler - Wrestling is a tough sport. I wrestled and was never very good. I had friends who were very, very good. We enjoyed it. But there are things about it I never warmed up to. For example, the singlet. I’m sorry, but unless you are blessed with an incredible natural physique or an inordinate amount of self-confidence, it is hard to get completely comfortable with this uniform.
Another is cheerleaders. Don’t get me wrong, in the right environment cheerleaders are great. Mat-side at a wrestling meet is not that environment. I don’t know what school we were wrestling against, but I remember we were away. Having the cheerleaders with us on the bus ride there, it seemed like a great idea. I don’t know why what happened next never occurred to me. I’m sure the match started out fine as I was usually more confident than was appropriate. However, very quickly things changed. The young man I was sure I had physical and technical superiority over was literally rag-dolling my ass all over the place. He was stronger, faster and better. The moment you realize that on a wrestling mat is a sinking feeling. It didn’t last long though; before I knew it I was back down and struggling. I bridged my neck in an effort to arch and keep my shoulder blades from making contact. Just then I saw a cheerleader I had a mild crush on sitting close, too close. My mind rapidly shifted from, “how do I stop this animal from killing me” to “oh god, how bad does this look?” Struggling, pale, sweaty and not in control of my own body…super unattractive I suspect. Time literally stood still as I quickly performed the “is there any chance she can ever date me after this” calculus. The answer my brain computed was not favorable. We never dated and I don’t know if this symbolic neutering was the reason, but how could it not be, right?
C’est la vie.
