Dining Out With The Boss

When I was little, we seldom dined away from home. We really didn’t go out that much at all. Trips to the grocery store or an occasional trip to the downtown section of our little town were about the extent of our outings. Our social circle consisted of a few neighbors. So, it was a big deal when my dad announced that my family was invited to a barbecue at the home of his boss. I was about four years old. I remember my parents running around trying to get us all ready for the big event. Preparing a 7 year old, 4 year old and twin babies for an evening out was a daunting task.

Sometime after we arrived at the barbecue, my mom picked me up. It really didn’t happen that often due to the two baby boys my parents were normally toting. As I recall, the wife of my dad’s boss was cooing and awing over my brothers. She took one of the boys from my mom to hold. Mom was just not used to not having a kid in her arms. She probably picked me up as some sort of reflex action.

Now, I must take a moment to explain that my mom was a very retiring, gentle lady. In my entire life with her, I don’t remember her ever doing anything to draw attention to her self or cause any type of scene. So, you can imagine her horror when she realized, after picking me up, that I was wearing no underwear. Nothing. I was bare bottomed. Somehow, in the confusion of dressing us for the dinner, no one realized that I had not put on my underpants. I don’t remember why I didn’t put any on. Maybe I couldn’t find them. I probably didn’t bother to ask for any. It doesn’t really matter. That fact was that I was naked beneath my little dress. Thank goodness I was potty trained!

Mom immediately got dad to the side and told him what was up. Apparently, neither one wanted to admit what had happened. We didn’t leave the party. Instead, mom handed me over to dad who carried me around for the remainder of the evening. They told everyone that I was shy, which was very difficult since I am anything but. People would ask to hold me and I would willing put out my arms only to have dad pull me back and explain that I was very shy.

I can honestly say that I’ve always worn underpants since that day. The horror on my parents’ faces must have imprinted, on my brain, the need to keep myself covered. No commando for me!

My Earliest Memory

My earliest memory centers on the day I first met my brothers. We were in the car bringing them home from the hospital…twin baby boys. I don’t remember having a problem with the idea of new siblings. I do remember being upset that they were both boys. I mean, why two boys? Why not a boy and a girl? I already had an older sister, but she didn’t really like me that much. In fact, I don’t remember this, but I was told. My sister asked my parents to return me to the hospital when I was first introduced to her. She liked being an only child. That attitude continued for a good portion of our childhood, so it was only natural that I would want a little sister that I could play with or ignore at will. Boys!

Then, there was the name thing. My brothers were born in an Irish Catholic hospital. In those days, many of the nurses at the hospital were also nuns. The nuns took an immediate liking to my brothers and decide to call them Pat and Mike, much to my mother’s chagrin. Mom had already picked out names, Robert and Rodney. Nice rhyming quality. Even after the birth certificates officially declared their names to be Robert and Rodney, the nuns continued to refer to them as Pat and Mike. So, you can see how a three year old could find the entire situation a bit confusing. Robert and Rodney? Pat and Mike? How about John and Mary? I loved those names. I don’t know why, but I really wanted to call my new brothers John and Mary. John and Mary were the names of two characters in a book my mom had read to me. John had dark hair and Mary’s hair was blond. It all fit perfectly. Rodney had dark hair, so he would be John. Robert’s hair was light. Mary seemed a logical choice. Nope. My opinion didn’t count. Robert and Rodney stayed Robert and Rodney. Looking back, I must admit that being called Mary could have made Robert’s life a little difficult. I guess my parents were right, but my brothers will always be John and Mary in my mind.

Why A Memory Sticks

I've always wondered why some memories stick and others don't. Think about it. Of all the things that have happened in you life, why do you only have a clear recollection of some of them? Is it because those moments were special or, do they somehow add to life's significance? Not mine!

I remember the oddest things. It is true that some of the things I remember clearly were significant moments in my life, but many are just odd little incidents that really carry no more significance than any others. Strangely, it is these little, shall we call them "mind stickers" that shape who we are. Thus, they will provide the substance of my blog.

Life Begins

Life, when does it begin? Countless discussions have centered on this topic. In my humble opinion, my life began at age three. My earliest memory is an event when I was three years old. Of course, I existed prior to that fateful day. I ate, slept and, I assume, interacted with others. So what? If I don’t remember it, I don’t think it is really counts for much. I like to think of the time prior to that first memory as the preparatory period for when my life really began.

This site will contain little snippets from my life. If reading about my life doesn't sound interesting to you, I totally understand and won't blame you in the least if you decide to move on. Even I think some of the things that happened in my life are lame, and it's my life. For the most part, however, I feel my life has been, if nothing else, interesting. So, feel free to take a stroll down memory lane with me.