Here is a picture of my brother when he was very young. One of these days I'll actually take some pics, so I don't have to keep recycling these old ones.So, remember how I posted part of that story I entitled 1969? Well, since I'm reworking the whole thing, I thought I'd get all crazy and start posting it from the beginning. Chronological order. Weird. I'll try to post it every week as I work on it. Just a reminder, it's mostly fiction with some fact or someone's memories thrown in for fun. Here we go:
I am eight years old today. My mom had to work, so we will have my party tomorrow. My dad was supposed to get my cake and decorations but he wanted to stop at the track for just a minute and now I think he forgot. Bill says not to worry about it. Our mom will take care of it later. She will be mad, but she'll get everything I need for my party. Now, Bill says we should go watch the races for a while and I can have my birthday tomorrow.
We go to tell my dad that we are going up front to see better. He is watching the horses. The old men at the track call them ponies. When there is a race going, he won't look anywhere else until the last horse crosses in front of him. Sometimes he won't look up then. He will just stare and stare. He won't look up even if I stand in front of him and scream right in his face. I know because I did it once and he didn't blink. He doesn't do anything when we say where we're going, so we know we can do whatever we want now.
My father used to work at the racetrack taking pictures of the winning horses. I don't know why he doesn't anymore, but my uncle still does and that's why we get to sit in the VIP section. VIP doesn't mean vice president. When I tell my brother that's what I think it means, he calls me stupid and now I don't think that anymore.
"It means very important people," Bill says and laughs the way he does when he hates my father. I know better to ask why it's funny that we sit in the very important people section.
That's probably more than enough for now. Tune in next week when our heroine braves even more family dysfunction at the racetrack...
6 comments:
Churlita,
Fact and fiction blend so easily in our memories.
rel
I always enjoy the photos you put up on your blog.
will this story all be in the perspective of an 8(?) year old?
I keep coming back to that hard lesson we all get about keeping what we think something means to ourselves for fear of looking dumb.
One family's dysfunction is another family's ... dysfunction. Haha. Surely (wow. How often do you get to use a word like 'surely') it's why we love reading stories and letting someone else work through OUR hauntedness.
Oh. Yah. I made up that word I used yesterday. Sometimes, don't you find, it's just easier to keep typing than fix stuff up?
rel,
Yes, and by this point, who knows which is which?
Tara,
Thanks. I just need some new ones is all.
Pamela,
Right now that's how it's written. I have a couple of ideas I want to experiment with, so it could change a lot too.
laura,
Me too. For me, I think it comes from being the youngest and having bossy older siblings.
Booda Baby,
No one appreciates made up words more than I do.
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