Sturm und Drang
I remember that day as clearly as a screaming vagina. Meaning to say, if ever I do see a vagina actually screaming I can pretty much bet both my testicles that I’ll never forget it until the day I die. A sight like that would probably ruin my sexual appetite so thoroughly that the mutilation of my reproductive organs wouldn’t be a big issue anymore. Might as well tear out the horrible little thing and be done with it.
As I was saying: I remember that day clearly. There he is-- little Squid-- coming home from gradeschool one November afternoon in 1987, all snip and snails and puppy dog tails. Little Squid is in the mood for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, a treat he plans to devour in his room while he reads Moby Dick. So far, he doesn’t understand half of what he’s already read in that lumbering beast of a novel since he’s only eleven years old, but at that age he already recognizes that what he’s reading is really crazy shit.
Little Squid enters the house humming the theme from the Transformers. He doesn’t see anyone in the house but knows his mother is somewhere around. He goes to the refrigerator for the peanut butter and passes by a window overlooking the backyard. There’s something strange going on there. Little Squid sees his mother crouched on the ground like a heathen idol, burning a pile of oddly familiar scraps of paper. Then little Squid recognizes the green plastic envelope with the He-Man stickers melting atop that pile…
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What?!
Submitted by squid villanueva on September 26, 2007 - 6:09am.
What? You're comparing my childhood writings to some old pot? How dare you?
Nah, I'm just fucking with you. Upon hindsight, maybe I should thank my mother for getting rid of those horrible poetry and whatnot.
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I had one such similar experience with my mother...
When I was in high school, I got ill (Don't ask me what kind of sickness. I was ill and that was it). I was taken to the hospital for treatment. At the time, it was two months before we were leaving Japan back to the Philippines. My mother was busy packing all of our belonging for shipping. I trusted that my mother would know the objects of my affection because she IS my mother but she didn't. So, she threw away my prized possesion! My kettle that won 2nd place in a Pottery Contest at school. It meant a great deal to me because it was entered in the International Arts Gallery amongst other works by competitive students. I tried to get over it and almost managed to, thinking that at least I have photo copies of that work. But my mother even threw THAT away! I was FURIOUS! I still cannot forget that she did it, although I have forgiven her.
Mothers!