One of my favorite memories as a kid was my sisters and I horseplaying with my dad.
We played this make-believe game called “bull”, where we’d act like bull fighters and our dad would chase us around on all fours while we dodged him and laughed like maniacs.
Dad (or “Sunshine” as I call him) used to be a football player, and is still built like one. So imagine the force used when he ran his head into the wall after our family friend Junior jumped out of the way. There was plaster everywhere. My mom wouldn’t let us play the game anymore after that, yelling “we just can’t have anything nice!”
Anytime that any of us broke anything, that well rehearsed phrase was drug out… you would have thought that my parents were raising a pack of feral kittens hellbent on the destruction of everything nice in our house. Granted, “we just can’t have anything nice” was usually spoken with good reason, like
- the time littlest sis poured elmer’s glue into the carpet and let it harden so it couldn’t come out – this happened again a few months later with play-doh
- when lil sis and I thought we’d give our barbie dolls (in assorted ethnicities of course) haircuts, thinking the hair would grow back
- when i set the tea kettle on fire by putting it in the microwave to heat water for my oatmeal
- the day that our dog charlie got scared while watching Cujo with the family (no joke) and ran out the front door while the screen door was closed, ripping the screen,
- when i tied my easter hair ribbons around the neighbor’s cat
- when i tried to put clothes on the dog
- when lil sis wrote on my white bedroom furniture in nail polish
- when littlest sis wrote on the bathroom door in nail polish
- when i tried to give my gerbils pete and patty a bath and didn’t realize that gerbils can’t swim… let’s leave that one at that. Give me a break. I was like, 8.