Every once in a while Brent and I play this game without trying where he tells a story about his childhood that he finds sort of crazy. We all have those stories, especially if you were fortunate enough to be a kid in the 1970s. He tells his story and then I tell my own version of the story and make his story look a little, well.... let's just say I win the story contest every time.
Example: Brent's talking while we're driving in the car the other day and tells me about the time he went down with the scouts to sand bag the State Street River (big flood around 1983 or so, as kids we all found it fascinating) and his parents let him ride in the back of So and So's truck, unrestrained. It was so unlike them. (Disclaimer to Brent's parents: You were great parents, otherwise Brent wouldn't have turned out so great!) So I tell my own story: That reminds me, when I was five or six and we were moving, we had this moving truck and after we unloaded the truck at our new house my dad let me and the sibs ride back to our old house in the back of the empty moving truck. We were running around in it, great fun! Then there was that time when we got a new car and you could put the back seats down to make more room in the trunk. My dad let us climb into the trunk through the back seat and put the seat back up then he gave each of us a ride around town while we were in the trunk. Or what about my Stepdad, Chuck? I remember when we were staying in a hotel and he told me and my brother to come around the corner to check out....( words I cannot in good conscience type on the internet) or when I was 19, shortly before I left for BYU, and a date came to pick me up...(words that would force you to gouge your very own eyes out) ...washcloth. These stories amuse, horrify and annoy Brent (annoy because I feel the need to win the story telling contest, but he will always beat me at strategy board games so we're even). This is why some people were raised in crazy, disfunctional families, so we can later amuse and entertain ourselves and those around us with crazy stories of way back when.
I do know my family wasn't the craziest family out there. If Brent had been raised by a couple of junkies or free loving hippies I'm sure his stories would win every time.
*Posts like this are what happens when you give your family your blog address and they have no interest in reading it. :)
1 comment:
Don't you love that? I have yet to see a single member of MY family read my blog (John's mom and sister read it regularly). John doesn't even do it. :(
Well, I take it back...my dad did read it once.
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