“You tell more stories than Dad does.”
This observation belonged to Chase. He shared it with me out of the blue last night as I was loading dishwasher and he was loitering in our kitchen. Given the fact that I had been cleaning in complete silence, I needed a little context.Do you mean I talk more about my day? No. I mean you talk more about when you were a little kid. You know. Ah. (I did know) Do you like those stories? Yeah.
And just like that, the conversation was over. He moved on to his homework, leaving me smiling by the dishwasher thinking about the childhood stories I have told him and his brother – the ones that never fail to delight them. If I could take a guess, some of their favorites would include:
“The Day Mom Would Not Share Her Fruit Cup So Nanny Made Her Eat the Entire 16 ounce Can in One Sitting (Even the Hard Pieces of Pear)”
“The Night Aunt Ju-Ju Fed the Dog From the Table for the Very Last Time…(Because Her Punishment was Eating Dinner Off the Floor”)
“The Afternoons Aunt Ju-Ju and Mom Spent Dressing Up Uncle Justin as a Little Colonial Girl we Named Lomberg” (Good times, Good times.)”
“The Time Mom Banged on the Storm Door Too Hard and Slit Her Wrist Open” (comes with complimentary viewing of scar)
The purpose of relaying these stories was not the morals, although there were always morals embedded. I simply enjoyed sharing versions of the grown-ups in their lives – especially me – that completely flew in the face of their reality and subsequently tied us all a little closer together.Nanny would never be THAT mean…. Uncle Justin would never let you do THAT to him…. You ALWAYS share. You are ALWAYS careful.
Folklore bridges gaps between generations. It is a reminder to all that everyone was young, stupid and clueless once. Chase unknowingly reminded me I need to keep building those bridges with some new material, knowing full well that as my boys mature, so must my stories. Someday their favorites might be:
“The Day Mom Got Caught Cheating on Her 8th Grade Social Studies Test”
“The Time Mom Threw Up All Over Nanny’s Car Dashboard Because She was So Hungover”
“The Year Mom Chose the Wrong Boyfriend, Parts 1-6”
Only time will tell which stories from my memory jukebox will be played for the brothers – and which will remain forever unspoken. But I imagine the best ones will always begin with:
“I know exactly how you feel. Did I ever tell about the time ….?”