Day 18, Saturday: Tell a story from your childhood. Dig deep and try to be descriptive about what you remember and how you felt.
A long summer thunderstorm came to lift and break the streak of heavy humidity and heat, leaving puddles the size of lakes on our cul-de-sac. It was a Wednesday night, which meant mom was working so Dad was in charge, and it also meant we got to play outside until almost dark. Dad on duty meant yummier dinners and more play time.
Ali and I had been running around in the sprinkler in the yard, and eventually making our way to the puddles at the end of the driveway. We were playing “house” and suddenly I had a genius idea. Let’s take baths in mud puddles. It would just be that time of the day where our “house” characters needed to bathe.
“I don’t think that is a great idea, Kate.” Ali sounded doubtful. Usually she was the one with the great ideas… why didn’t she like mine?
“Oh, come on Allllli. It will be fun. Just pretend we are taking grown up baths!”
She shrugs her shoulders and we jump into the puddle.
We were splashing around and then the point came where we dipped our heads into the puddle to wash our hair, being sure to grab a little bit of mud to use as soap. We had just bent over to get more water when we hear my front door swing open and my dad bellows at the top of his lungs: “KATE MARIE BORMAN GET IN HERE RIGHT THIS MINUTE!! ALI GO HOME!!!!”
I quickly look at Ali in panic. She turns to me and says, “It will be okay, your dad is nice, but he sure is mad now!”
Ali starts to loiter home as I stalk up to my dad holding the door open. The worst part was yet to come.
My dad did not spank me and barely even yelled at me. That wasn’t the worst part. They worst part was that as a five or six year old, I could not remember the last time my dad had to give me a bath. How embarrassing! I tried to tell him that I didn’t need to take a bath because I just did. But he wasn’t buying it.
I sat there in the tub, feeling my dad scrub the mud out of my hair, saying under his breath how dumb of an idea it was and thinking about what my mother will say when she hears what we did.
On the nights my mom worked, I was in bed before she got home. I don’t remember her being mad the next morning, but I am sure I was embarrassed enough to last me a while. Knowing how much of a cry baby I was as a kid, I probably cried myself to sleep that night. I always felt so guilty that my parents knew I would punish myself worse than any way they could.
But to this day, I was always proud of that great idea I had. It was fun and for once it was me who got us in trouble. I was usually the goody-two-shoes… and this time it was MY great idea that got us into trouble!
What types of mischief did you get into as a child? Did you have a partner in crime like I did, or were you more of a solo troublemaker?