Familial Eccentricities

We all understand that many things determine who we are. Our upbringing is important in creating our personalities. I want to start by saying that I have two wonderful parents. They are loving, kind, generous individuals who are always there when needed. And as I reflect, I see the vast amount of knowledge they laid at my feet. They instilled in me a love of learning, a love of family, and most important...a love of God. My parents had a firm, but caring way of discipline which turned me into the woman I am today. I owe so much to them. I also have a sister and brother who mean the world to me. Each of them has begun a new journey in life, the journey of marriage. We are a close familial unit. I want to share with you, however, the eccentricities they possess. Each member has influenced my personality for, I believe, the better. But...you decide.

Being the youngest of the clan, you can imagine the teasing and torture I endured. My brother and sister (don't kill me, guys. I have to share the hilarity of our younger years) always wanted to find faster, easier ways to accomplish things. Things such as...going down the stairs. What would allow for the swiftest ride and reduce the chance of receiving bodily harm? Neither my brother nor my sister would take the plunge. Who, you may ask, was the crash-test dummy? Why it was none other than the author herself. I would do ANYTHING for my brother and sister, my heroes. I'd hear, "ANNIE. Come here. How would you like to slide down the stairs in a laundry basket?" Oh, be still my beating heart. What a thrill awaited me. Climbing aboard the cloth-toting vehicle, they pushed the basket, and myself, to our doom. I glided down two steps, flew out of the basket, and became a human bouncy ball. A dozen stairs later, I laid motionless as my siblings watched in mock horror. The tears came swiftly as did my mom. I settled down after the two culprits received their just punishments. Nevertheless, not twenty minutes later, I heard, "ANNIE. Come here. How would you like to go down the stairs in this garbage bag?" My reply, "Ok!" It was the same tragic ending as the time before. I look back now and think, "So, that's my problem. I probably have brain damage." It sure makes for some great stories, though.

This morning I was traveling down a crowded road not far from my house. On this highway, there are two railroad tracks that pass overhead. As I drove under the second, I noticed a train passing by. Instinctively, I ducked my head. I know. The train was a good thirty feet above, why would anyone in their right mind duck? And here is another oddity, this one brought to you by the letter M. Mom. In my youth, we would travel down this road to go see our grandparents. Since we've already established my gullibility, this should not come as much of a shock. We were singing songs, having a marvelous ride, when my mom spotted a train on said tracks. "Oh no," she gasped. "You kids had better duck down or the train will cut off your heads." With the speed of a locomotive (no pun intended), my head was in my lap. I lay there trembling until I heard snickering...from my parents. The snickering turned to roaring laughter. How could they take decapitation so lightly? My mom explained that her father used to say the same thing to her. And so, it became a tradition. Every excursion that brought us under a moving train, my dad would holler, "Hurry kids, DUCK!" Immediately the three obedient children would stoop their heads in a fit of giggles.

There are many childhood memories that helped shape the person I am. But, to me, one of the funniest happened around the age of seven, nearly eight (that is to say it's hilarious to me now). I love spinning in circles. Always have. Always will. It's exhilarating, feeling the momentum throw off your center of gravity. Knowing that at any moment you may fall. In this part of my life, I don't revolve in circles frequently, but I love rolling down hills, which produces the same giddiness. As a child, I took every opportunity to twirl, especially in my frilly church dresses. One day after church, I ran in the living room and began this favorite pastime. My dad, seeing that I was in danger of crashing into the piano, said, "Annie, why don't you stop twirling now. You're going to get hurt." "Uh-uh, Daddy, I'm good at this and I can twirl for a long time. Watch me!" Repeatedly, he implored me to cease the spin that was undoubtedly causing him frustration. "You're going to get hurt. Please stop right now." "I'm not going to get hurt. I promise." Finally, on the brink of exasperation, he admonished, "If you don't stop spinning, you're giving Satan the chance to enter your body. Do you want to be possessed by the Devil?" "No." "Then STOP twirling." Collapsing on the floor and in tears, I prayed that I would be saved from this transgression. How could I unknowingly have been so stupid? How was I going to be baptized now that I had given Satan the opportunity to steal my very soul? I lay sobbing at my grievous sin until my dad reentered the room. "Honey, I'm sorry I told you that. It's not true. Satan can't take control over you when you're spinning. But you need to learn to listen when Daddy tells you not to do something. Can you do that?" Meekly, I acquiesced. After a big hug, he left only to meet my mom. "You told her what? I can't believe you'd say that to a seven-year old." "Well...it got her to stop!"

I look back now and smile at moments such as these. As a family, we discuss these memories with laughter. And yet, I can imagine the looks on some of your faces. Your parents said what to you? In their defense, my dad is an engineer and my mom is married to one. Doesn't that explain a lot?