My family and I were roaming through sunshine Florida, all packed up in the family car, visiting the mandatory tourist attractions. One night after an exhausting day at Disney World, and a long frustrating drive back, for my father had as much difficulty navigating himself landlocked as I would on water with the North Star as sole reference point, we finally returned to our motel room. A non-descript room with a kitchenette, a few mismatched utensils, a broken coffee machine, two kitchen chairs covered with green and yellow flower plastic material, a kitchen table with stainless steel legs, and a chipped brown Formica top burned in the middle by cigarettes butts, beige shaggy carpet permeated with the smell of humidity, one of the lamp had no shade, two double beds covered with flower bedspreads in red and green tones, a bureau which top drawer hosted an Anglican bible and a dead beetle; a motel room that defied description. That my parents saw fit to lodge their precious heirs in such bleak setting tells much about their nurturing nature.
The sleeping arrangements were also of an intriguing nature. For a reason unbeknownst to me, I would always share a bed with my mother and my brother with my father. My parents never slept together in the same bed, despite the fact that in real life they spent very little time together. My family was quite financially comfortable, there was no apparent reason why we couldn’t have occupied two rooms, especially of this caliber, providing them with a bit of intimacy, and us with a good night sleep, since my father’s snoring was so excessive and I must say, repulsive that there was no dozing off possible, thus exacerbating the general crankiness. However, that night was slightly different. My brother had found a dubious looking pee stained fold-away bed in the wardrobe and decided to spend the night on it. In my opinion, such decision had to be motivated by some level of desperation. More so, given the fact that there were no sheets provided for it and he had to wrap himself up in one of the bedspread.
In the middle of the night, once we had all sunk into a sleep deprived coma, I had a dream. A vivid dream punctuated by some degree with mild somnambulism. I was found kneeling behind my mother, who was sleeping in a spoon shape facing away from me, pummeling her with both fists while screaming at the top of my lungs. My mother, along with everybody else no doubt, woke up abruptly and wondered what was going on. “What on earth do you think you’re doing, are you mad?” To which I apparently replied “Oh! Sorry! Sorry mum! I thought you were Richard (my brother)” upon which I peacefully went back to sleep.
The following morning, the incident was told and retold to whoever would listen. It had become the liveliest moment of the holidays. Everybody thought it was quite hilarious and cheeky. Ah, my dear parents…
Friday, July 24, 2009
Thursday, July 23, 2009
The Family Car
My mother is known for her impractical and often ridiculous choices. She makes them in the hope of impressing people, neighbors, bystanders, all in all, people she doesn’t know, but whom opinion she cares a great deal about. That my father went along with her choices is another proof that they both truly deserved each other.
At the time of purchase, my brother and I were both in our teenage. My brother was involved in several organized sports and required rides to and from wherever, several times a week. Each sport involved bags of equipment and usually team mates who also had bags of equipment. Although I was more self-reliant, there were times when I desperately needed a ride home. My mother was then working at a popular college downtown. Over the years she provided free rides to most of the neighboring kids, except for me, for she had had enough by the time I started college. Thankfully I had already turned sixteen and by then, purchased my own car. Still, we both left home at about the same time in the morning, returning, at first, at about the same time at night. Freedom of transportation, however, soon allowed for less rigid return times which I took full advantage of.
Naturally, the wise choice for a family car would have been to acquire a spacious and solid four-door sedan with a large trunk, a safe car where everybody could have been comfortably seated. But my mother never considers others. Her vision is limited to her own needs and desires. Instead she insisted on a two-door grey Camaro with red leather interior and a huge eagle on the hood. That car had a big V8 engine which she never drove faster than 50 km/h, even on the highways. As a matter of fact, she even managed to get a ticket for impeding the flow of traffic…
Sit by a gorgeous woman for an hour and it will feel like a minute, sit on a hot stove for one minute and it will feel like an hour, said Albert Einstein while explaining the theory of relativity. Sit with my family in a confined space for a month and you will understand the true meaning of eternity. At some point during the time we owned that racing car, my mother decided that the entire family would go on a road trip down to Florida. In the middle of winter, four people, none who spoke English, two heavy smokers, one asthmatic (me), one over six feet tall (my brother), a large cooler on the back seat between the children, no back windows, two doors and four weeks later, we hated each other with pure raging passion which lasted to this day.
At the time of purchase, my brother and I were both in our teenage. My brother was involved in several organized sports and required rides to and from wherever, several times a week. Each sport involved bags of equipment and usually team mates who also had bags of equipment. Although I was more self-reliant, there were times when I desperately needed a ride home. My mother was then working at a popular college downtown. Over the years she provided free rides to most of the neighboring kids, except for me, for she had had enough by the time I started college. Thankfully I had already turned sixteen and by then, purchased my own car. Still, we both left home at about the same time in the morning, returning, at first, at about the same time at night. Freedom of transportation, however, soon allowed for less rigid return times which I took full advantage of.
Naturally, the wise choice for a family car would have been to acquire a spacious and solid four-door sedan with a large trunk, a safe car where everybody could have been comfortably seated. But my mother never considers others. Her vision is limited to her own needs and desires. Instead she insisted on a two-door grey Camaro with red leather interior and a huge eagle on the hood. That car had a big V8 engine which she never drove faster than 50 km/h, even on the highways. As a matter of fact, she even managed to get a ticket for impeding the flow of traffic…
Sit by a gorgeous woman for an hour and it will feel like a minute, sit on a hot stove for one minute and it will feel like an hour, said Albert Einstein while explaining the theory of relativity. Sit with my family in a confined space for a month and you will understand the true meaning of eternity. At some point during the time we owned that racing car, my mother decided that the entire family would go on a road trip down to Florida. In the middle of winter, four people, none who spoke English, two heavy smokers, one asthmatic (me), one over six feet tall (my brother), a large cooler on the back seat between the children, no back windows, two doors and four weeks later, we hated each other with pure raging passion which lasted to this day.
Friday, July 17, 2009
Oh Boy!
It started over a year ago. There was this very handsome guy, whom I would see almost every day walking by my office building during lunch time. After a while, we started nodding hello to each other and one day, as we were walking alongside, we introduced ourselves. The ice was broken. From there on, our hellos were voiced and supplemented by a few words, a few sentences and eventually by full paragraphs. The connection was slowly refining itself. After a few months of this enlivening exchange, while in the middle of a crosswalk, and rather unexpectedly, prince charming turned into a toad. Vociferation of outrage and disbelief burst out of his formerly tempting lips “How can you behave like that when you have a partner!” I was dumbstruck. Me? How was I behaving? Who’s partner? What? Or more eloquently: Huh?
“I don’t have a partner!” Needless to say, I almost ran to the office. That guy is completely crazy! His outburst had seized me like an electric shock. I was relating the story to a few colleagues when Linda started howling.
“I can’t believe it! This guy is just as datingly inept as you are! He was obviously trying to find out if you had a boyfriend.”
A few days later, we were both standing on opposite sidewalks waiting for the traffic light to change. When I saw him, standing still and smiling at me, I freaked out and rushed back to the office. Since then, I have bumped into him with a melting ice cream cone which bounced on his dark Armani suit. In hope of remedying the situation, my dirty napkin only managed to spread the mess from shoulder to shoulder. One afternoon, his little dog, until then pleasantly strolling along, suddenly took a bit at me and left with a chunk of my suit pants, I almost took one of his eye out on a rainy day with my umbrella, and managed to drop the entire content of a sweet foamy tall cappuccino on his leather shoes, the day he stopped me from inadvertently throwing myself into incoming traffic. I also stabbed him with a blue marker, staining his crisp white shirt, and we banged heads the day his rain coat belt got tangled with my scarf. It seems that the level of anxiety amongst us had built to an unmanageable level. For a while, we tacitly agreed to avoid each other. It was working well until recently. A few days ago I saw him walking alongside a gorgeous brunette. When he saw me, he turned around and waved, while colliding with a stop sign pole that got him a nose bleed.
Now imagine if this had blossomed into a relationship.
“I don’t have a partner!” Needless to say, I almost ran to the office. That guy is completely crazy! His outburst had seized me like an electric shock. I was relating the story to a few colleagues when Linda started howling.
“I can’t believe it! This guy is just as datingly inept as you are! He was obviously trying to find out if you had a boyfriend.”
A few days later, we were both standing on opposite sidewalks waiting for the traffic light to change. When I saw him, standing still and smiling at me, I freaked out and rushed back to the office. Since then, I have bumped into him with a melting ice cream cone which bounced on his dark Armani suit. In hope of remedying the situation, my dirty napkin only managed to spread the mess from shoulder to shoulder. One afternoon, his little dog, until then pleasantly strolling along, suddenly took a bit at me and left with a chunk of my suit pants, I almost took one of his eye out on a rainy day with my umbrella, and managed to drop the entire content of a sweet foamy tall cappuccino on his leather shoes, the day he stopped me from inadvertently throwing myself into incoming traffic. I also stabbed him with a blue marker, staining his crisp white shirt, and we banged heads the day his rain coat belt got tangled with my scarf. It seems that the level of anxiety amongst us had built to an unmanageable level. For a while, we tacitly agreed to avoid each other. It was working well until recently. A few days ago I saw him walking alongside a gorgeous brunette. When he saw me, he turned around and waved, while colliding with a stop sign pole that got him a nose bleed.
Now imagine if this had blossomed into a relationship.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Mitigated Success
Inevitably every time I speak with my parents, absurd childhood memories resurface. Not that we discussed them, they simply re-emerge under a new perspective.
When my parents got married, they bought a house in a new residential development, an upscale bungalow with an unfinished basement. My mother lived there mostly all by herself as my father was away for work the majority of time. So that she wouldn’t feel too lonely, the legend has it that my mother adopted two cats. Her companions were religiously kept locked in the basement, for shedding hair was not permitted in her living quarters, or sent outside during the warmer days. My mother recounted that one of the cat became twice as big as the other one, presumably because it ate both portions of food, she concluded. Not that this realization helped the smaller one in any fashion. My mother did not believe in the power of intervention. It’s unpleasant. A few months later, the smaller cat died and half a year later, the other one disappeared she recalled. I don’t believe they were ever given names. The experience, no doubt, was deemed a brilliant success for a few months later my mother decided it was time to have children…
When my parents got married, they bought a house in a new residential development, an upscale bungalow with an unfinished basement. My mother lived there mostly all by herself as my father was away for work the majority of time. So that she wouldn’t feel too lonely, the legend has it that my mother adopted two cats. Her companions were religiously kept locked in the basement, for shedding hair was not permitted in her living quarters, or sent outside during the warmer days. My mother recounted that one of the cat became twice as big as the other one, presumably because it ate both portions of food, she concluded. Not that this realization helped the smaller one in any fashion. My mother did not believe in the power of intervention. It’s unpleasant. A few months later, the smaller cat died and half a year later, the other one disappeared she recalled. I don’t believe they were ever given names. The experience, no doubt, was deemed a brilliant success for a few months later my mother decided it was time to have children…
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