We all have a story about how bad our parents were. We love to bring it up at family gatherings for a laugh or two. I promised my mother that I would never mention it again because, being a parent, my children now have stories. I know how she feels.

So… this is the last time I will mention it!

How I Torture My Mother: 

My Mom claims not to remember the incident; I am sure she doesn’t because we suppress memories like these for our own mental health. Who can admit to being a bad parent, right? Anyway, my siblings and I were all between the ages of 10 and 4, and somehow, mysteriously, suspiciously, an old coffee can filled with crayons had spilled in the closet where they were kept. All my mom wanted was for the perpetrator to ‘fess’ up and clean up! So we all just sat there in a line waiting for someone to confess. I remember feeling pretty bad for whoever committed the crime. I knew I didn’t. I imagine now that we were all thinking the same thing. None of us remembered spilling the crayons, accidently or otherwise. Finally, after what seemed like hours, the oldest of us, Cher, said that she had done it. She hadn’t of course but she took the responsibility so the rest of us wouldn’t be punished and have to sit there for like… forever! Ah… Cher, the first of many adventures in sibling saving. You are my hero!

Why I Will Stop Torturing My Mother:

My son claims not to remember the incident; I am sure he doesn’t because we suppress memories like these for our own mental health. Who can admit to having a bad parent, right? See what I did there? Clever! Anyway… Ha! When my son, Kyle, was about 4 years old, I made these adorable little Santa magnets out of beads, cross-stitched, only with beads instead of embroidery floss. They were so cute and sparkly, and Santa! He loved them. He would take them off the ‘fridge and play with them; he wanted them in his room so he could look at them; he just loved them. I thought they should stay on the ‘fridge. One day, I yelled at that poor little boy who just loved that cute, sparkly thing that I made. He loved something I made! That something that might have become a wonderful childhood memory. That something is now just a horrible thing because when I see it I remember.

Honestly, this is all part of being a parent. We are human, we make mistakes… blah, blah. I know this. What I really didn’t know was how I was making my mom feel every time I told the crayon story. We all just thought it was funny, we have no permanent damage. Now I know.

Why My Daughter Can’t Torture Me:

And then there are the other stories of bad parenting that I have no remorse over. This time, it is I who claim not to remember. My daughter, Sheli, tells a story about me, throwing a ladle at her from the kitchen and hitting her right in the forehead! I think this never actually happened because, first, she doesn’t remember why, and second, she never got into trouble when she was younger. She was in middle school when this was to have taken place. The only believable thing is that I hit my mark! If I actually was going to throw a ladle, I would aim exactly for the forehead!

Finally, Why I Must Stop Torturing Myself:

I bought the El Camino, pictured above, for my son. When Kyle was 4 or 5 years old he saw an El Camino for the first time and remarked excitedly, “Mom, it’s a car and a truck!” Also, it was born the same year as me! So… when he was about 15 and we needed something to do to keep him out of trouble, not that he got into a lot of trouble, I thought it would be the perfect project for us. We could sort of learn together. (Now all I really want is for Top Gear or Classic Car Rescue or Pimp My Ride or Trick My Truck or one of those tv shows to do it for me… for freee!) He loved that car!

After his first girlfriend broke up with him, he was pretty upset. To try and make him feel a little better, I thought, “I know, let’s take the El Camino for a ride!” Now remember, Kyle is 15, not a whole lot of driving experience, absolutely zero experience with old cars that do not have power steering or power anything for that matter. I hand him the keys. Oh my gosh, his whole face lit up! He backs it out of the driveway and into the street. Pretty sweet! Then he begins to turn the wheel and gives it some gas, just a little… BOOM! Right into the curb, not just any curb, the highest point right above the drain. Pops the tire, dents the fender, he gets out of the car, leaves the door open and runs into the house. Thanks for trying to cheer me up mom!

I was talking to my mom the other day about music. I LOVE music! I can probably define my whole life with songs that have meant something to me through the years… and years. I listen to all genres however my SiriusXM is tuned to Octane, new hard rock (oooh… with the bad words). Why am I telling you this? It seems that there is a (new) trend now, a positive message in the lyrics opposed to the not so long ago ‘love to hate you’ message. There is a song in particular that pretty much sums up my feelings about this blog; 

I wouldn’t change a thing about the past.