September 1, 2004

• Tales of Youthful Vagaries: Part I

  
  

  I like trips down memory lane.  I like nostalgia.  I like remembering how things used to be, how stupid I was, and how my parents must have had to hold back their laughter when they were “mad” at me. 

  
  

  I was twelve years-old, and my family was attending a church function on a Sunday evening.  The purpose of such functions, it seems, is two-fold: to eat unhealthy finger foods, and as an exercise in patience for any child in attentance.  Both of these factors, it seems, would ruin my night.

  
  

  Brie, Camembert and Mozarella all come in tiny little squares for parties, receptions, and the like.  You eat them with toothpicks or with crackers.  With wine, or not.  OR, if you’re a twelve year-old boy, they’re best strewn across the church foyer, as you watch the crowd, mingling unawares, simultaneously comingling cheese with carpet.

  
  

  I might add that I, too, smashed cheese into the carpet.  Until this very moment, I’ve denied that I ever DID in fact smash cheese into the carpet.  My father was furious.  We left and on the ride home, interrogations began.  Did you do this Andrew? No. Did you do this Ben? No. What did you really see, Lisa? Andrew and Ben smashing cheese into the church carpet.  What compels me to finally digress is this: the interrogation quickly ended when the soles of my shoes showed not only Mozza. Not only Brie.  Nay–also Camembert!  It’s amusing how long we may cling to the innocence for which we’ve worked so hard to convince ourselves.

  
  

  It’s also amusing that I thought my parents would be fooled into spanking me after I’d put on no less than five pairs of undies.  I learned, years later, that my dad had to leave the room because he thought it was so funny.  But oh man, did I get a lickin’. 

  
  

  And I deserved it.

  • 4:10 am
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