So I have this vivid memory of when I was a kid. I don't know exactly how old I was, but I'm going to guess between seven and ten. And my mom made us go play outside.
Our yard wasn't fenced, we were on a corner lot and basically used the whole neighborhood as our playground. There was a huge pine tree out front that was a favorite spot of mine. And I don't know where or what I was playing on this particular day, but I know that a big dog came roaming around our yard, and so I ran to the front door to go inside. But (not kidding) my mom would not let me in.
Now I don't remember exactly what transpired prior to being banished outside, but I do remember sort of understanding why I had to stay outside. I was aware that when we were told to play outside, it was in some ways a punishment. Or maybe a preemptive measure against some worse punishment. In short, we were driving her crazy.
So there we were, Laurel and I, cast out of our own home, scared out of our wits at this dog. So we did the only thing that made sense. We shut ourselves in between the screen door and the front door (for protection, you know) and screamed and banged on the door with all our might.
I assume she let us in eventually, because I am here today to tell the tale.
I reflected on that day today. I may or may not have been locked in my room at the time. And my children possibly could have been banging on the door, screaming, crying in desperation.
My poor mother.
Why couldn't we just leave her alone?!
All she needed was a few minutes of peace! Just a few minutes!
And so today I laughed. And laughed. And laughed. Because that memory finally makes sense.