(When I was in elementary school, everyone was given a sapling for some environmental initiative. I planted my sapling in an unkempt part of my parents’ backyard. I moved out of their place several years ago, am living in a new city, and recently bought a home. The following conversation happens on the phone with my mother:)
Mom: “So, when are you coming to pick up all the stuff you left at our house?”
Me: “What stuff? I took care of the last few boxes two Christmases ago. You even helped me. What else is left?”
Mom: “Well… Aren’t you going to take your tree?”
Me: “Tree?”
Mom: “The sapling in the backyard. There’s no room for it there!”
Me: “You mean the one that I planted in third grade? I didn’t think to take it, seeing as it’s a tree.”
Mom: “It’s too crowded in the back. You need to get it out of there!”
Me: “Mom, I’m not going to dig up a tree and drive it six hours to [City]. We’ll let nature take care of the crowding.”
We have one of those things that you step on and it tells you what type of insole you need for your shoes — high-arch, pronate… whatever. But for it to work properly, you have to stand on it with your bare feet.
We had some kids wanting to try it, but upon seeing that you had to have bare feet, their mother yelled at them, “No, don’t go on that! You’ll get foot-AIDS!”
(My wife and I are watching a political drama/thriller on TV when our college-age daughter walks into the room and sits down.)
Daughter: “What are you guys watching? What’s going on here?”
Me: “Okay, so, this soldier here has just seen his buddy shot in the head, and now…[explains the plot of the film thus far].”
Daughter: “Oh… No. That seems a bit much for me, on a Thursday evening and everything. I can’t deal with that.”
(She gets out her phone and starts reading something whilst we continue watching the film.)
Me: “What is it you’re reading, anyway?”
Daughter: “Oh, I was just reading up on the Zodiac Killer.”
(When I am around seven years old, there is a string of drunk-driving incidents in my hometown, mostly related to underage drivers. It is all over the local news for several weeks, and it really upsets my mom. Because I often carpool with a friend to school, with her older sibling driving us, she sits me down and has a long talk with me about not riding in cars with people who have been drinking, to call her or my dad if I don’t feel safe riding with someone, etc. Unfortunately, she neglects to clarify for seven-year-old me exactly what beverages constitute “drinking and driving,” because we have this gem of a conversation about a week later:)
Me: *running into her room* “Mommy!”
Mom: “Yes, sweetie?”
Me: “You know how Daddy drove me to gymnastics today?”
Mom: “Yes?”
Me: “Well… um… Is wine a ‘drink’?”
Mom: *stunned silence* “[My Name], are you saying your father was drinking wine in the car?”
Me: “Yeah! It said it on the can!”
Mom: *jumping up and grabbing the phone off the hook* “I can’t believe he… Wait, what can?”
Me: “It said it in big letters, ‘CHEERWINE’!” *a form of cherry soda*
Mom: *slams the phone down* “Oh! Oh, thank God!”
(We then had different talk about drinks that are okay to have in the car. My dad thought it was hilarious and still likes to tell people that story nearly 30 years later.)
(I am about nine and our family is on vacation in the Caribbean. I have spent most of the day down at the beach, and with the heat and the salt water I am very thirsty. There is only one stand that sells soda, and it is down on the other end of the beach. My Mom and I start walking toward it. Along the way, we run into my grandparents walking the opposite way.)
Grandma: “Where are you two going?”
Mom: “[My Name] is really thirsty, so we’re going to get her a soda.”
Grandma: “Well, I have a coke here she can have. It’s diet, though.”
Me: “I don’t care.”
(I’m just eager to drink anything. My grandma hands me her cup and I take a huge drink, and a second later I start spitting it out on the ground.)
Grandma: “It’s just diet; it’s not that bad.”
(My mom takes the cup out of my hand and takes a small sip.)
Mom: “There’s rum in this.”
Grandma: “Oh! I forgot about that.”
