Wednesday, February 02, 2005
Randomness
I was pretty ugly when I was a little kid. It wasn't necessarily that my face was ugly. Mostly, I was just really gangly and my head was huge. I had this really big mound of a forehead and my mouth was and still is too big for my face. People thought I looked really disturbing for a little kid. Like a goat maybe. The boys at pre-school called me goat girl. Yeah, a goat would probably sum it up.
My parents thought I was alright I think. They were pretty loving and everything. When I was about four or five, I would always wake up really early every morning and sort of sleep walk into their room. It was a tradition; I always did it, every morning. I'd crawl into their bed and cuddle up with them. It was nice, just snuggling with my parents, finding a nice nook between them and feeling happy being a kid.
But there's more. After a bit of the snuggles, my dad would wake up, and go downstairs. When he came back, he always had a cup of coffee for my mom and this neat little kid-sized plastic cup of guava juice for me. I think we got that cup at Wendy's or something. I hate Wendy's. Square hamburgers are dumb.
But the guava juice was the best. I mean, guava juice really isn't all that great, but it was all about the tradition. It was our own quaint little family tradition and I quite liked it. My dad's sort of this grumpy old man type, and it's funny when he does little fatherly things like that.
So, my mom and I would sit in bed and she'd sip her coffee and I'd sip my guava juice as if it were coffee too. Sometimes I would spill some of it and laugh. And my dad would get pissed and threaten not to bring me guava juice anymore. But I just laughed anyway, when he's pissed, he grunts and sounds kind of like a goat. He always had. He couldn't possibly break the tradition. But it was ok, because I knew he'd never stop bringing me guava juice. He couldn't possibly break the tradition.
I think when I was closer to being six or so, I began to think more about the deeper philosophies of this tradition. Something about it was different. Something just wasn't right. I was no longer feeling truly fulfilled by the snuggling and the guava juice. It pissed me off that it was no longer working out like it had. I wanted to feel the same satisfaction of the whole deal, that I had felt only months ago. And after about, three days of thinking really hard, it hit me: the guava juice. It just wasn't enough.
The solution to my problem would have to be, more guava juice. It was obvious. I mean, I was getting to be a pretty big girl. I figured, big girls need big cups of guava juice to satisfy that crave for guava juice one gets in the morning. This had to be the answer. I was sure of it.
I thought I'd confront my mother about this problem. I wondered if there could be a compromise, and I hoped mom had the answer. So soon after I had come up with my hypothesis, I ran it by her. I had just finished an especially unsatisfying cup of guava juice, and my dad had gone back downstairs to take my wimpy little cup, and my mom's coffee mug to put in the sink. As soon as my pop had left the room, I rolled over and explained the situation to my mother. I told her everything, holding nothing back. My mother looked at me. I looked at her. And then she started to chuckle.
I knew then, that she had the answer. She knew how to make it good. Mom was good with this stuff. Oh, she was good. She suggested the most brilliant and cute way of confronting my dad about the guava juice, so that he would get the message simply and easily, and wouldn't have to feel bad about confronting him. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt the poor guy's feelings, telling him his guava juice just wasn't cutting it.
So thi sis what my mom suggested I do. I would write my old man a note. I'd post it on the fridge at night, and then next day, he'd come down to get me my guava juice, and see the note. I figured he could read it in private, cope with his thoughts, and then he'd be glad that I decided to move on and be a big girl. So I did it. The not I wrote was relatively short and to the point. "Dad, I've been getting bigger lately I’m almost a big girl. I'd like to have some more guava juice in the morning. Could you please give me a bigger cup? Love, your daughter, kate” Later that night, after my parents had gone to bed I snuck back downstairs and posted my not on the fridge with a little sliver of adhesive tape. I strategically placed it dead center, in the middle of the door, so that he couldn't possibly miss it.
When I woke up the next morning I was excited. I couldn't wait to see what my new cup was going to be like. And I knew my bad was going to
like the note too. Or, I guess I hoped he would like it. I mean, I
didn't want to hurt his feelings. So, I went into their room and did the whole snuggling thing like always. I snuggled especially hard that morning, because more guava juice constituted more snuggling, in my mind anyway. I was stepping it up in all areas of the tradition. It was fine snuggling for a while, but then I started getting all jittery, because I wanted my dad to wake up and go get the damn coffee and guava juice already. I felt like I really couldn't wait. But I did it anyway. But it was tough though let me tell you.
Finally he woke up and groaned and yawned for a little bit, and then went downstairs. Right when he left, my mom looked at me with excited eyes and a smile, and asked if I had planted the note. I nodded and told her that I had. I could hear my dad shuffling around in the kitchen in his ratty old slippers. I knew first, he would shuffle over to the coffee machine, toss some of that bad tasting brown powder in the little drawer, along with some water, and flip the switch. The coffee maker would produce some annoying grinding sounds, kind of like my dad does when he's pissed. Then he'd go get the newspaper and flip through it, until the coffee was done. He'd pour the coffee into my mom's mug. Then he'd shuffle over to the other cabinet, get my crappy little cup, and open the fridge. He's fill the cup with juice, close the fridge, and about twenty seconds later, I'd have some juice, and my mom would have her some coffee.
This is where stuff went wrong. Everything did not go according to tradition this morning. I could hear my dad shuffling over to the coffee machine, pouring in that powder crap, and flipping the switch. I heard the grunting and grinding, and chuckled, imagining him down there, getting pissed. I heard him get a cup, pour the coffee, and put it on the table. Now, traditionally, the next sounds I would hear would be some more shuffling of ratty slippers, and then that weird sucking sound of the fridge opening. Not so on this morning. I heard the shuffling yes, but after about three or four shuffles, he stopped abruptly. "Yes!" I thought to myself. "He's reading the note. Good. Great. Wonderful." There were no sounds for a few more seconds. I was expecting for the next sound to be the opening of the fridge, but instead, I was treated with more ratty slipper shuffling.
I was confused. I heard my dad coming up the stairs. My mind was racing. What was going on? He came back into my parent's bedroom. I looked down at what he was carrying. I was appalled. I think my heart skipped a beat. I blinked a few times. I probably stopped breathing. My dad was holding a cup of coffee. There was only one cup of coffee, in his right hand, if i remember correctly. No guava juice to be seen for miles. What the hell was the deal here?
I was too flabbergasted to speak. He handed my mom the coffee and
didn't even look at me. He lay back down in bed and appeared to go back to sleep. I'm not sure my mom even noticed. I think she might have been reading something, and she just sat there with her face in a book and the coffee cup at her lips. I got up and left. I went back to my room. I was so confused. My dad didn't even say one word to me. Nothing. Just handed my mom the coffee cup and went back to sleep. Not one word.
My dad didn't say anything about the note, or the guava juice later either. Neither did my mom. Neither did I. I didn't want to sound like a baby, complaining about such a silly thing. But it wasn't silly to me. It was serious. Maybe the poor old guy forgot or something? Maybe we just didn't have any more guava juice? Maybe there were no cups that he saw to be big enough for such a big girl like me?
But those were not the answers. Because, from the day of the note until the day I wrote this, I have not had on drop, of goddamn guava juice.
My parents thought I was alright I think. They were pretty loving and everything. When I was about four or five, I would always wake up really early every morning and sort of sleep walk into their room. It was a tradition; I always did it, every morning. I'd crawl into their bed and cuddle up with them. It was nice, just snuggling with my parents, finding a nice nook between them and feeling happy being a kid.
But there's more. After a bit of the snuggles, my dad would wake up, and go downstairs. When he came back, he always had a cup of coffee for my mom and this neat little kid-sized plastic cup of guava juice for me. I think we got that cup at Wendy's or something. I hate Wendy's. Square hamburgers are dumb.
But the guava juice was the best. I mean, guava juice really isn't all that great, but it was all about the tradition. It was our own quaint little family tradition and I quite liked it. My dad's sort of this grumpy old man type, and it's funny when he does little fatherly things like that.
So, my mom and I would sit in bed and she'd sip her coffee and I'd sip my guava juice as if it were coffee too. Sometimes I would spill some of it and laugh. And my dad would get pissed and threaten not to bring me guava juice anymore. But I just laughed anyway, when he's pissed, he grunts and sounds kind of like a goat. He always had. He couldn't possibly break the tradition. But it was ok, because I knew he'd never stop bringing me guava juice. He couldn't possibly break the tradition.
I think when I was closer to being six or so, I began to think more about the deeper philosophies of this tradition. Something about it was different. Something just wasn't right. I was no longer feeling truly fulfilled by the snuggling and the guava juice. It pissed me off that it was no longer working out like it had. I wanted to feel the same satisfaction of the whole deal, that I had felt only months ago. And after about, three days of thinking really hard, it hit me: the guava juice. It just wasn't enough.
The solution to my problem would have to be, more guava juice. It was obvious. I mean, I was getting to be a pretty big girl. I figured, big girls need big cups of guava juice to satisfy that crave for guava juice one gets in the morning. This had to be the answer. I was sure of it.
I thought I'd confront my mother about this problem. I wondered if there could be a compromise, and I hoped mom had the answer. So soon after I had come up with my hypothesis, I ran it by her. I had just finished an especially unsatisfying cup of guava juice, and my dad had gone back downstairs to take my wimpy little cup, and my mom's coffee mug to put in the sink. As soon as my pop had left the room, I rolled over and explained the situation to my mother. I told her everything, holding nothing back. My mother looked at me. I looked at her. And then she started to chuckle.
I knew then, that she had the answer. She knew how to make it good. Mom was good with this stuff. Oh, she was good. She suggested the most brilliant and cute way of confronting my dad about the guava juice, so that he would get the message simply and easily, and wouldn't have to feel bad about confronting him. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt the poor guy's feelings, telling him his guava juice just wasn't cutting it.
So thi sis what my mom suggested I do. I would write my old man a note. I'd post it on the fridge at night, and then next day, he'd come down to get me my guava juice, and see the note. I figured he could read it in private, cope with his thoughts, and then he'd be glad that I decided to move on and be a big girl. So I did it. The not I wrote was relatively short and to the point. "Dad, I've been getting bigger lately I’m almost a big girl. I'd like to have some more guava juice in the morning. Could you please give me a bigger cup? Love, your daughter, kate” Later that night, after my parents had gone to bed I snuck back downstairs and posted my not on the fridge with a little sliver of adhesive tape. I strategically placed it dead center, in the middle of the door, so that he couldn't possibly miss it.
When I woke up the next morning I was excited. I couldn't wait to see what my new cup was going to be like. And I knew my bad was going to
like the note too. Or, I guess I hoped he would like it. I mean, I
didn't want to hurt his feelings. So, I went into their room and did the whole snuggling thing like always. I snuggled especially hard that morning, because more guava juice constituted more snuggling, in my mind anyway. I was stepping it up in all areas of the tradition. It was fine snuggling for a while, but then I started getting all jittery, because I wanted my dad to wake up and go get the damn coffee and guava juice already. I felt like I really couldn't wait. But I did it anyway. But it was tough though let me tell you.
Finally he woke up and groaned and yawned for a little bit, and then went downstairs. Right when he left, my mom looked at me with excited eyes and a smile, and asked if I had planted the note. I nodded and told her that I had. I could hear my dad shuffling around in the kitchen in his ratty old slippers. I knew first, he would shuffle over to the coffee machine, toss some of that bad tasting brown powder in the little drawer, along with some water, and flip the switch. The coffee maker would produce some annoying grinding sounds, kind of like my dad does when he's pissed. Then he'd go get the newspaper and flip through it, until the coffee was done. He'd pour the coffee into my mom's mug. Then he'd shuffle over to the other cabinet, get my crappy little cup, and open the fridge. He's fill the cup with juice, close the fridge, and about twenty seconds later, I'd have some juice, and my mom would have her some coffee.
This is where stuff went wrong. Everything did not go according to tradition this morning. I could hear my dad shuffling over to the coffee machine, pouring in that powder crap, and flipping the switch. I heard the grunting and grinding, and chuckled, imagining him down there, getting pissed. I heard him get a cup, pour the coffee, and put it on the table. Now, traditionally, the next sounds I would hear would be some more shuffling of ratty slippers, and then that weird sucking sound of the fridge opening. Not so on this morning. I heard the shuffling yes, but after about three or four shuffles, he stopped abruptly. "Yes!" I thought to myself. "He's reading the note. Good. Great. Wonderful." There were no sounds for a few more seconds. I was expecting for the next sound to be the opening of the fridge, but instead, I was treated with more ratty slipper shuffling.
I was confused. I heard my dad coming up the stairs. My mind was racing. What was going on? He came back into my parent's bedroom. I looked down at what he was carrying. I was appalled. I think my heart skipped a beat. I blinked a few times. I probably stopped breathing. My dad was holding a cup of coffee. There was only one cup of coffee, in his right hand, if i remember correctly. No guava juice to be seen for miles. What the hell was the deal here?
I was too flabbergasted to speak. He handed my mom the coffee and
didn't even look at me. He lay back down in bed and appeared to go back to sleep. I'm not sure my mom even noticed. I think she might have been reading something, and she just sat there with her face in a book and the coffee cup at her lips. I got up and left. I went back to my room. I was so confused. My dad didn't even say one word to me. Nothing. Just handed my mom the coffee cup and went back to sleep. Not one word.
My dad didn't say anything about the note, or the guava juice later either. Neither did my mom. Neither did I. I didn't want to sound like a baby, complaining about such a silly thing. But it wasn't silly to me. It was serious. Maybe the poor old guy forgot or something? Maybe we just didn't have any more guava juice? Maybe there were no cups that he saw to be big enough for such a big girl like me?
But those were not the answers. Because, from the day of the note until the day I wrote this, I have not had on drop, of goddamn guava juice.
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