“In My Day…”

Today’s Pickles is, of course, meant to be funny.  But for me it dredges up memories of my mother’s anger whenever I didn’t “appreciate” anything to her satisfaction, from getting to go to school to having my own room* to crying because of an earache despite having actual medication for it.  And my guilt over having things my mother didn’t.

Looking back, I wonder if she intended to slap on guilt with a trowel or if she was just expressing her own pain and not caring how I took it.

I first saw Bill Cosby’s classic video Himself as a teenager, and, oddly enough, I found it proportion-making. “The man ate dirt til he was 30 years old. That’s all there was, was dirt. And he was thankful to get it.”

Odd how both are mining the same comedic vein, but one brings me laughter and the other doesn’t.

*Mom had two older sisters. I was an only child.  Wonder why she shared her bedroom and I didn’t?

4 thoughts on ““In My Day…”

  1. Yeah, everyone else always had to walk twenty miles through the snow to get to school – both ways! – all times of the year.

    My parents didn’t pull a lot of that with me and my brothers, but Dad had a tendency to think that prices stopped in their tracks when he was about nine. I never could convince him that a dime a week for allowance didn’t do us very much good when a candy bar cost a quarter… let along when the prices went up again!

    My brother the medieval historian seems to have picked up that particular quirk. A couple years ago he bought a $40.00 pair of shoes and then threw a major hissy fit when they wore out after eight months hard wear as his only pair of shoes. Why, we we were in primary school, $40.00 shoes lasted forever!

  2. My mom was the one who said “I brought you into this world and I can take you out of it.” Seems more appropriate, somehow. I fully plan to use that line on any kid I have.

  3. Every Christmas my Mother would put both an orange and a shiny red apple in my Christmas stocking. I’d haul ’em out and put then to one side digging deeper for the chocolate I knew was in there somewhere and scoff that.
    Every Christmas she’d ask why I didn’t eat the fruit and then she’d launch into her story of how there was never fruit in the orphanage.
    She would have loved to be given an orange or an apple but there was none of that due to the depression.

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