2 posts tagged “childhood stories”

Continuing on with my nostalgia tour. I have decided to explain why I chose to name my blog Project Moose. I hope it doesn't make people think I am strange. Here goes...

I have mentioned in previous post's that I grew up in California. What I have never mentioned is where. It is a really small town in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada's. It has less than a thousand people in it, probably even less than that now. Springville. Doesn't it sound idyllic? It was a great place to grow up. We had parade's every spring for Jackass Mail Run and then the Rodeo. We use to be a stop for the Pro Rodeo Tour. Big doins' for our tiny town! In the fall we would have an Apple Festival. I am making my own self moopy. We won't even talk about Christmas. I don't want to make anyone cry.

On to the reason for the name of my blog. My family lived just outside of town. We had a few acres and were able to do as we pleased, for the most part. We knew everyone. Most of our friends lived further out so we had to make do with each other as play mates. We also had a dog. Actually, the dog was mine. I had had him since I was a little girl. He was the greatest dog ever. His name was Rocky. He was a cattle dog. And I got pick of the litter. People used to come from all over the tri-state area to purchase one of these dogs. He was super protective and went everywhere with me. He was great fun and game for just about anything.

We had a small deck off of my parent's bedroom on the back of the house. We used to love to hide there and then jump out and scare the shit out each other! So one day I get this great idea. I tell my brother we should run around the house and see if we can get the dog to chase us. It took a couple of times around the house, but the dog figured out it was a new game and was totally on board. I decided we needed something to call our game. Wait for it... I cannot tell you for the life of me how I came up with it, but I named it Project Moose. All we would have to do is yell"Project Moose" and take off running and the dog would be in hot pursuit! We would be screaming and laughing our fool head's off. We would make a lap or two and then jump on that little back deck and watch the dog run right on by. We would laugh and laugh. And then the dog would find us and we would do it all over again.

So now you know. I have always been easily amused, even as a small child.

I was watching my usual crappy Friday night t.v. when I was reminded of a little episode from my own less than stellar past. I thought I would share it with you now. So here goes...

When I was growing up my little brother was a small,spindly-legged kid. He had a small pigmentation problem(I can't for the life of me remember the damn name of it!) and used to get teased, a lot. Being his big sister, and completely fearless, I would stick up for him. It was what you did. When you are the older sibling you protect your younger sibling's. Period. It wasn't too bad while we still lived in California, then we moved to Georgia. It got worse.

We originally lived in Snellville the first year we lived here. My parent's moved us to Douglasville after that, which is where we grew up. Things were fine up until we moved into our new house. The next door neighbor's were absolute shits. The daughter was the same age as me, and I thought that was so cool. Until I actually met her. She was a stone-cold-fucking-class-A-bitch. I saw my dreams of Friday night sleepovers fly right out the window. And then there was the middle son. He was a year or two older than my little brother. We are not even going to talk about the youngest son, who I am pretty sure is like, some sort of serial killer by now because his parent's were that fucked up.

Back to the middle son. He was a big football playing-bully-jackass. They would play touch football in our front yard with all the neighborhood kids. Until he felt the need to "tackle" my brother and make him cry. My brother has never been a cry-baby. This kid was that much of a mean little shit. I would get pissed off and go out there and tell him to knock it off or one day he would be sorry. He would just laugh and tell me to shut up. Can you see where this is going?!

So one day he gets really rough with my brother and he comes in the house crying...and I see red. Literally. This haze comes over me and I am just FURIOUS. I throw open the front door screaming his name. He stops what he is doing and just looks at his friends and laughs. I storm over to where he is standing there with this whatchu-gonna-do-bitch look on his face and I haul off and punch him right in the face. He staggers back a few feet and I do it again. Apparently, the whole time I am screaming at him to NEVER touch my little brother again. My FATHER had to come outside to pull me off of him.

I am worried I will get in trouble for fighting. We explain what has been going on and sit there waiting for the shit to hit the fan. I will never forget the look my father got on his face. He was dumbfounded. I had just beat the shit out of a guy who out- weighed me by a good fifty pounds and didn't have even a little scratch. He said he was proud of me for standing up for my little brother, and while fighting was NOT the answer, I had done everything else I could do. He said to never throw the first punch, but to damn well defend ourselves if we ever did get into a fight.

The best part? The neighbor had to go to school with a black eye. And everyone knew that he had gotten his ass kicked by a GIRL. And my runty little brother? Grew up to be much taller and stronger than his big sister. And has forgotten all that I did for him in our youth, because we have not spoken to each other since my Grandma died. And before that, the last time was Mother's Day last year.

It makes me really sad. We used to be best friends. I miss that.