So here we are, Day Six of my 30-day writing challenge. Today was a particularly draining and all I want to do is curl up in my pajamas and read a good book (maybe re-read Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets for the tenth time?), but here I am writing. Looking back at today’s events, I would like to write a memoir post:
It was a sunny, yet cool day. My dad was wearing the same sweatshirt and ripped jeans (not the cool Abercrombie & Fitch kind but the needed-to-be-thrown-out-about-a-decade-ago kind) that he always wore on busy, errand-filled weekends. He had taken me with him for the day, driving around our tiny little town, running in and out of stores and stopping in to visit family. My parents still lived in their hometown; they had tried to move away once, right after they were married, but ended up coming back to good ole’ Pearl River. So, as a result, we were never more than five minutes away from our family.
On this particular day, we decided to stop by and see my Aunt Adele. She lived in a brick apartment building near the center of town, and, therefore, was close to all the little errands we were running that day. Before heading up the steps, my dad reminded me that we were just “stopping by.” As a kid I always had a problem with this, always wanting to stay at someone’s house longer. I was a selfish little kid with no concept of time or adults’ busy schedules.
We walked up the front steps and down the little hallway; her apartment was on the first floor, just beyond the staircase. I knocked on the door and Aunt Adele welcomed us into the living room. Being a shy kid, I stayed pretty quiet as the adults chatted, content to listen. At one point in the conversation, my dad told Aunt Adele and Uncle Alphonse, Adele’s son and my dad’s cousin, about some new vitamins he (a.k.a. my mom) bought. My Uncle Alphonse chuckled and said that he didn’t like vitamins, that they always made him feel sick instead of healthy.
As the adults chatted, I moved closer to the dining room table where my aunt, like all Italian mothers, had a spread of deli meats, cheeses and some rolls. I interrupted the adults’ conversation and asked my aunt if I could have a sandwich. My dad shot me a look (the strictest form of discipline he knew) and quickly told Aunt Adele that I didn’t need a sandwich because I had just had lunch an hour ago. And, without skipping a beat, my Aunt Adele replied, “Yes, well now it is an hour later and she needs to eat again.” As she made me my sandwich, I smiled and thought that was one of the best, and most Italian, responses anyone could ever give.
lovingdysfunction 