It's time for another edition of Kat's Thursday's Writing Assignment.
1.) Describe what you would change about yourself if you could.
2.) Book Review! What children’s book do you hate reading to your child?
(inspired by E. from Mommy’s Still Fabulous)
3.) What do you predict will happen this decade? (You can be funny or serious if you like).
(inspired by Christopher from CaJoh)
4.) Choose the 7th picture you took from last January and write a poem.
5.) Write about a heated argument you had with your parents (real or fictitious).
(inspired by Writer’s Digest)
Considering where my life is right now, and where it has been for more than a few years now, there is only one option for me.
I need to talk about a time when I was a selfish little 15 year old brat.
Just to make myself feel better about the one I've currently got under my roof.
I need to feel that she is maybe more normal than I am giving her credit for.
I need to share with you my own sad and sorry moments when my parents really should have gotten off the pot and sent me packing.
Instead, they put up with me. As I will endure these times with my own teenage daughter.
This is by far not the worst thing I have done. If you've read my blog for very long, you know I've done some pretty awful things. And if you were invited to my private blog, however short-lived that was, you know that I went far beyond your average teenage girl bullshit.
The rest of you will just have to trust me on this.
However, what I'm going to share is just a little thing that has eaten at me for years. And I don't know if I ever apologized for it. Or even let anyone know that I remember it, let alone still think about it.
Many of you know that I'm Canadian. And many of you will know that Canadians are known for three things:
- How incredibly nice and polite we are.
Obviously, since I'm going to discuss my (incredibly rare) inner bitch, number one is out of the question.
Number two just is what it is.
So that leaves number three.
Have you heard of Wayne Gretzky? Perhaps during hockey games in your own venues, heard "Go Oilers Go!". We had the hockey team to beat. It was, I believe, mid to late '80s. I was somewhere around 14 or 15 I think.
The Oilers won the Stanley Cup. Again. And again. And again.
When "we" win the Stanley Cup, the streets are full of cars driving along waving flags and honking horns. People are high-fiving strangers on the sidewalks.
They close sections of downtown so people can walk along and share the joy. Really, the fans will take over the roads anyway, so for a matter of safety, what the hell? Just close 'em up!
I do apologize for the incredibly long introduction to this post. I do feel that I need to set the stage for the coming story.
Back to it now.
"We" won the Stanley Cup. Me, being a teenage girl, didn't give a shit. At least on the outside. I was way too cool for any of that crap, right? Damn right!
My Dad got behind the wheel of the car, Mom in the passenger seat. Me and Lane in the back seat. I don't think Buddy was there, but I could be wrong.
We drove down to 75th street, which is fairly busy and close to home. The excitement was thick in the air, and even thicker in that car.
Immediately, windows were rolled down. My dad laid on the horn. My mom waved her flag and hooted and hollered! Lane was grinning from ear to ear.
And I was a sullen, miserable, embarrassed, way-too-cool-for-this, girl.
Not only did I not join in the party atmosphere. I demolished it.
I stomped on it and spit on it.
I let everyone in that car know just how stupid they looked and sounded.
And to my shame, the windows went up. The horn went silent. Lane looked at me like I was the biggest bitch he had every laid eyes upon.
And we drove home.
I don't remember anyone ever talking to me about this, except for Lane's "Good going, Rhonda" comment. So I suppose this doesn't necessarily qualify as an argument.
But it falls under the category still, for me. Because, for one of the only times I can remember, I ruined something cool and fun. For nothing.
It wasn't because I wanted a cigarette and couldn't successfully escape my house to indulge myself.
It wasn't because my stupid parents wouldn't let me go to a party.
It wasn't over a pair of jeans that I just HAD to have.
It was because I was a nasty, selfish, stupid teenage girl. And for my own sake today, I had to remember it. And talk about it.
And by way of my humble little blog, apologize for it.
After all these years, I have thought about it. And hung my head. And wanted desperately to relive that moment. To fix it.
I really am sorry.