Here is another post from my A Day in the Life Series about growing up with a mom who had paranoid schizophrenia.
To celebrate this hot summer day, my favorite time of year, this post is about some of the great times we had in those carefree months of the year when school was out and our thoughts shifted to fireflies and back flips off the diving board.
Growing up, I lived on a fantastic cul-de-sac in which each household had at least 2, if not 8, children around my age; thus summers were never boring. We had a small, above-ground swimming pool which was a magnet for all of those unfortunate kids on the street who were forced to run through their sprinklers in order to stay cool. My mom was pretty strict about who was allowed to get in our pool, based on her assessment of how many germs they were carrying.
After one particularly good day of swimming and eating popsicles until our tongues and mouths were covered in red dye #2, mom and dad suggested a trip to the drive-in.
I had mixed emotions about going to the drive-in, mainly because I usually ended up huddled in the backseat, roasting with my head under a blanket, trying not to see what was causing the blood curdling screams. My mom had a thing about scary movies, and more than once she subjected us to movies like Psycho, What Ever Happened to Baby Jane, The Birds, or Rosemary’s Baby.On this particular occasion, we were going to see the Pink Panther, so I thought it only fitting to ask if I could bring my kitten, Willy, whom I had recently acquired. Obviously the answer was no, but being the stubborn, devious child that I was, I didn’t let that stop me.
I concealed the tiny black and white kitten in my pillow case, and even my brother didn’t know I had smuggled him in. As we pulled our car onto the launch pad and situated the speaker onto our window, Willy never made a sound.
That is until intermission, when it hit our nostrils all at once.
Dad: “What the hell is that smell? Did someone step in dog crap?”
Everyone evacuated the car at once, leaving only a pillow on the back seat, covered in a steaming pile of cat shit and a tiny little kitten looking up at us.
As the trunk slammed shut, we didn’t hear another word out of Willy until later that evening when we arrived home and I pulled his quivering body out of the trunk.
Fortunately Willy survived his imprisonment and was quite forgiving. Needless to say, I never tried to smuggle him into the drive-in again.
To see my last post click here.