When Kids Should Get Cell Phones

Plinky asked me, “At what age do you think it’s appropriate for children to get cell phones?”

 

I am sure I am jealous, but I never got to carry around a phone when I was a child. Sure, it would have been a bit clunky, and I wouldn’t be able to go too far because of the cord and all, but it would have been fun. Well, no, wait. No, it wouldn’t. It was too much fun hearing my mother yelling for me in the neighborhood to come home for dinner. What fun would it be to just hear my phone ringing. Or I’d get a text, “Dinner time.”

Ok, I got off topic. As a fourth grade teacher, I would say that a child should be able to own their own cell phone no earlier than 5th grade.

Oh hell, I don’t know.

Oh, Lord, Won’t You Buy Me a Mercedes Benz

Mercedes

I didn’t know it at the time, mainly because teen-agers are not of this world, but when I was 16, I had to take my dad’s car when my mom just wasn’t feeling like letting me use hers. My dad had a grey 1972 Mercedes, and I thought it was the ugliest thing I had ever seen. The dashboard was ugly and well, I didn’t feel pretty driving it. I would cry when my mom would tell me, “Take your dad’s car tonight.” I would moan and complain, to no avail.I didn’t appreciate the fact that a 16 year old girl driving a Mercedes Benz in 1972 was pretty cool.

An Alternate Ending

Plinky asked me, "Write an alternate ending to a movie"

Sommersby, starring Richard Gere and Jody Foster, disturbed me for a week after watching the movie. I cried for hours after the ending. It was, besides Sophie's Choice, the saddest movie I have ever seen.

I would surely change the ending to where she races in on a horse and cuts him down from the noose right before he is hung, and they ride off into the sunset together. That's what I would do.

If I Were a Teacher

Plinky asked me, “If you were a professor, what subject would you teach?”

Revolutionary War Living History Day

Well, right now I teach fourth grade, so I am in the profession. But, if I was a professor, I would teach United States History. I love the Revolutionary War period and also anything about the Lewis and Clark Expedition.

My Sense of Humor

Plinky asked me, "Describe your sense of humor."

People laughing at a dinner

"The person who knows how to laugh at himself will never cease to be amused." ~Shirley MacLaine~

I was just recently told that I have a weird sense of humor. Well, I think I appreciate humor across all genres.I will laugh at Monty Python and really laugh at Bob Newhart. I like to read funny blogs and I think I write funny blogs, mostly making fun of my family. Dysfunctional families are quite funny.

I will be the first to admit that I will laugh if you fall in front of me. And, I'm sorry to say, even found humor at my father's funeral, as the Grand Poobah's of a men's group he belonged to had some ceremony at the gravesite which made me feel like I was at a meeting of the Water Buffalo's on the Flintstones. Cracked me up. So, I guess if I laugh at my dad's funeral, I would probably laugh anywhere. Even at the dentist..which pissed him off.

Separated at Birth?

Plinky asked me, "How many siblings do you have?"

William Fox School, twins and grads

It's funny that you ask that, Plinky. I am the oldest of three. I was adopted at birth and so was my brother, David, who is two years younger. Then. lo and behold, mom got pregnant with my sister. I can't remember her name because we don't speak. But, there may be one more.

I may have a twin. My sister was partying at a club in the 70's and saw someone who she thought looked like me. She walked over and laughed and asked her out of the blue if she was adopted, because she looked just like me. She was adopted….and…get this….on the same day and the same year as me…and she was born in Wheeling, WV.

So, we met, with dreams of getting our blood tested to see if our DNA matched. We never did and I never talked to her again. I'm sure she was my twin. This was in 1956.

Maybe I will do some leg work to find her.

My Thoughts on Valentine's Day

Plinky asked me, "How do you feel about Valentine's Day?

Valentine dance, school

When I was in fourth grade, Miss Emler had us make Valentine boxes out of shoeboxes for our Valentine cards. I really worked hard on mine. I was a new student that year, transferring from a private Catholic school where there was no Valentine’s Day. Being a student at the Sacred Heart of Mary Juana Academy was pretty close to being in hell, I was sure. So, I was excited to get Valentines from my new friends.

Miss Emler made us take our Valentine boxes home and wouldn’t let us open it to see our Valentine’s. I was really hoping to get one from Doug. He was the cutest boy in fourth grade and I think everyone liked Doug. So, I took my Valentine box home and after dropping my books on the couch, plopped myself down on the floor. I was excited.

Inside were a lot of Valentines. I read each one and put it aside like it was quite fragile. This was fun. But, then, my mom spoke up.

“You know Vickie, enjoy Valentine’s Day now, because when you get married, your husband won’t buy you a damn thing.” she said, as she sucked on her Salem cigarette, and exhaled up into the air. That smoke just kept coming out of her mouth. ” Your father never buys me flowers or candy.” I just looked at her. “Vickie, when you get married, don’t expect your husband to be buying you flowers and candy all the time. It doesn’t happen. You need to go to college and get a degree so you can support him.”

Um, Mom, you’re raining on my Valentine Day experience here. My dad probably bought her flowers one time and she made him take them back or something. I knew he didn’t like her too much. He deliberately ran over her flowers with the lawn mower. I saw him do it. He looked at me and laughed and went back over them again. He was a quiet guy, but he got back at the rolling-pin woman.

“Vickie, then again, you may not even get married, so go to college and get a degree.”

I decided to talk back a bit to my mom. I remember this conversation. ” I will so get married and my husband is going to buy me a lot of flowers and candy and even a dog.” So, there, you loon.

I opened all of my Valentine cards and I didn’t get one from Doug. I was crushed. The next day at the bus stop I asked Ramaine and LeeAnn and Lori if they got a Valentine card from Doug. They did. Now I was ready to cry. Doug didn’t give me a Valentine’s Day card. Life was over….at nine years of age.

At school, I over heard Kacey tell people that she got two Valentine cards from Doug. Two? Way to rub salt into my oozing wound, Kacey. It got back to Doug and he went to her and told her that he didn’t give her two cards. “Yes, you did. You signed both of them.” Seems like Doug put a Valentine card without a name on it in Kacey’s Valentine box by mistake. I heard him tell Scott that he made one for everyone.

So, I went home that day, knowing that that Valentine card was meant for me. But, it didn’t mean anything a day after Valentine’s Day. I hated Valentine’s Day.

Fast forward to February 14, 1984. It was my first Valentine’s Day as a married person. The phone rang. It was my mom.

“Vickie, Happy Valentine’s Day! I love you.” Yeah, me too, Mom. Small talk, then….”Sooooo, what did your husband get you for Valentine’s Day?”

I wanted to lie. You have no idea how I wanted to lie. I wanted to say that he bought me a dozen roses and took me to dinner and wrote me a poem. Because poetry is sexy.

She didn’t give me a chance. She noted my hesitation. “Do you remember when you were little, Vickie? I told you that when you got married that you wouldn’t get anything for Valentine’s Day, didn’t I? Your old mom is pretty smart, isn’t she?”

“Mom, he got me a Valentine’s Day present.” I didn’t lie.

“Oh, he did, did he? …Vickie, I know when you lie. You can’t fool your mother. Ok. What did he buy you?”

Yeah, I know…..

Long pause…..then the truth.. “He um, bought me a hamburger maker.”

After she started laughing, I just walked over and quietly hung up on her.

I guess nothing says “I love you” like pressed ground beef.

And that’s why I hate Valentine’s Day.

My First Drive

Plinky asked me, “Describe the first time you drove a vehicle.”

1957 Cadillac tailfins

When I was sixteen, I couldn’t wait to get my driver’s license. But, I had to go through my mom first. The wicked woman took me every evening to the state police barracks to practice my raw driving skill.

They had a figure eight configuration and a place where you could practice parallel parking. The problem was that she made me do this in her beast of a Cadillac. How cruel.

She made me back around the figure eight. She made me drive it over and over and over again. I hated her. I hated that stupid boat with wheels. This was just so unfair to make me practice in such a large vehicle. I decided right then I would NEVER own a Cadillac.

On the day of my driver’s test, my mom made me drive my dad’s car. What the hell? I was confused. We took his brand new 1972 Mercedes and I whipped it into the parallel parking spot. I drove the figure 8 like a pro. I even asked him if he wanted me to drive it backwards. I was “Teen-age Driver of the Year” for sure. I passed with flying colors.

My mom didn’t say a word on the way home. She sat there like Cock robin, though. Smug lady.

When we got home, my dad asked if it worked? My mom smiled and said, “Yes, I’m such a smart woman.”

She was. And I finally told her that when my own daughter was learning to drive. Unfortunately, we didn’t have a Cadillac for her to learn to drive in.

We had a van, though. Worked this time too.

My Competitive Side

Plinky asked me, “What are you competitive about?”

 

I like to be right. My ex-husband used to think he knew it all, and I would just quietly go to a reference source to confirm or deny his statement. He used to say it was because I hated to be wrong, but he is so wrong about being wrong.. I just need to find the truth. I am a seeker of knowledge.

So, yeah, I like to be right. I am not smug or conceited. I used to be conceited, but now I am perfect.

If I Were a Published Author

Plinky asked me, "You just signed a book deal. What's the title of your masterpiece?"

Dropped on Her Head
I would write a memoir and take excerpts from my blog, Jumping in Mud Puddles. I would be like a Christina Crawford, exaggerating my life with my mother, a real loon.