Ravings of the Occasionally Opinionated

Waiting to Fly

Walter wrote about our parents who forced us to eat food we detested. It's true. I remember having to finish my glass of milk after it had gotten too warm and I really didn't want it. I'd mentally prepare myself, pretending it was grape juice, my favorite at the time, and then attempt to chug it down. I nearly barfed at least once - probably many times, but they all blend together.

Only a few years ago, Walter told me how it came to be that he was thrown out of the house and moved in with our grandmother. It was because he wouldn't eat his slice of tomato. He was ordered to, and he refused. There was a huge blowup, and he was permanently thrown out of the house.

As incredulous as I was over the story, what really later astonished me, especially regarding how long it took for me to even realize it, was that I must have been there. He is older than I, and I had to have been there at dinner. After a few hours or days, it gradually came back to me. I always sat at the end of the table opposite Dad. (The same general area where I remember nearly puking on warm milk, lima beans, and liver, too.) Walter sat across from Mom, next to Dad. There was arguing and shouting and I was just looking down hard at my plate, not looking up, thinking, "Eat the goddam slice of tomato! Just eat the goddam tomato." People standing at the table shouting over a slice of tomato. I totally repressed it from my memory until I spent a few hours trying to dredge it out. And thus, my brother was thrown out of the house, never to move back in.

He took a stand on how much he could be controlled, and the result was like a bird being pushed from the nest by its parents, with a wild and preposterous argument. Off he flew.

I never had the gumption to take a stand. I just bided my time until I was old enough, and then off I flew. My entire childhood was spent waiting to be old enough to fly.