Six Weird Things From My Childhood

Fraulein N, fellow Philly Girl, tagged me for this meme. And she's cool, so how can I refuse? Plus, I was a pretty weird kid.

A Trusting Soul
I had a group of friends who were all two years older, and I trusted them implicitly. Naturally, they took advantage of this, as kids do. Kids are evil. They told me they were witches (!!) and various other (very obvious, I think now) lies. And I believed them! Every word! Once I realized what big liars they were, I made it a point not to be so gullible anymore, and I've stuck with it. It took my husband years to get me to trust him.

Young Lurve
The first boy I ever had a crush on was in kindergarten, and was called Bruce. I liked him for no other reason than he had a really awesome Spider-man sweatshirt. He was otherwise a troll, but I was willing to overlook that on account of the shirt.

In first grade, I got my first kiss (no tongue, it was Catholic school, after all, and I was very naive 'n' innocent, anyway) from Stephen T., who later dumped me for a girl who smelled like fried food, but not before he and his friend Ricky entertained some other girls and myself by waggling their little weenies at us in class and comparing them to the (female, nun) principal's head. Oy.

Screw You, Fred
When I was about five, my mother would sit me down in front of the TV to watch Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood. What kid didn't like Mr. Rogers? Well, me. I didn't. He sang the little song about how special we were to him, and I would talk back to the TV: "I am NOT special!" My mother thought this was high comedy.

Of course, now I love Mr. Rogers, even without the benefit of Henrietta Pussycat. He was awesome.

Double Plus Ungood
My older brother wanted a baby brother so much that he cried when I was born (he was the only boy). He made up for it by taking me under his wing and making me a nasty little tomboy. Many are the photos I have of myself taken with his Brownie camera, dressed in ice hockey gear, riding a skateboard, or made over into various altar egos at Halloween. When he wasn't forming me into a boy, my brother was torturing me in the ways that only an older brother can: merciless tickling, flinging foodstuffs at my head, pretending that there was something scary at the window behind me, and waking me by pouring a glass of cold water over my head. Good times.

Here's Where It Starts Getting Really Weird
For some unknown reason, as six year old, I insisted on putting on a sweater, hat and mittens when going to bed. My sisters and brother, who are all considerably older than I am, thought this was ridiculous (and rightly so!), but my mother humored me. Hey, if it got me to go to bed, she wasn't going to complain (need I mention I was the baby of the family?). I would remove the outerwear in my sleep and wake up in my pajams the next morning, just like a normal kid.

And Now, The Piece de Resistance
When I was about 7, I would leave the room, pull my shirt backwards over my head to simulate hair, and re-enter the room, transformed into my altar ego, "Vicky." Vicky was a well-behaved child who would swoop in to save the day by putting away all the toys that Mrs. Harridan had left lying around. "Oh, Vicky," my mother and grandmother, who lived with us, would exclaim. It's so nice to see you here, cleaning up!" Then they would ask Vicky about herself. All I revealed was that Vicky's mother's name was Zelda. I think, at the time, these were the two most exotic-sounding, and therefore attractive names to my young ears. Then Vicky would leave just as quickly as she had come, and I would put my shirt back on, right side in, and come back to admire her handiwork.

Please do not call the men in the white coats. With my luck, I'll have a daughter just like me.

I'm tagging anyone out there who has writer's block and needs a kickstart.