I don't yet have children of my own. But I often think about what my brother and I put my parents through during each stage of "growing up". In talking with friends of mine that now do have kids of their own and thinking back on my parents, I can't help but wonder...how the hell can they keep a straight face at times when they are "supposed" to be serious and disciplinary? Here are only a couple examples that I can remember from when I was a kid:

My mom made baked chicken for dinner one night and had allowed my brother and I to sit at the counter while her and my dad sat in the living room. Our living room is a separate room leading in from the kitchen and the counters we were sitting at are located in the den facing said kitchen. Therefore, my parents couldn't really see what was going on when we got to eat at the counter. (This minor detail proves to be important later on the story.)

It was always customary for us to ask to be excused before leaving the dinner table. My parents would always look at our plates and often try and get us to eat one or two more bites before leaving. My brother Pat had already gotten his permission to leave the table and was off playing in his room, having fun while I was stuck sitting there all alone with my leg of chicken that I DID NOT want to eat.

My mom would periodically pop her head out to see my progress (or lack there of) and try to coax me each time to eat only a couple of bites. Stubborn little child that I was...I refused. After she had asked me to eat it quite a few times, I could tell she was starting to lose her patience with me. So I got a great idea. I would sneak out of the room very quietly, dreaded chicken in my hand and throw it away. Then sneak back into my chair, unnoticed and exclaim "I'm all done!"

I was a genius!!! The trouble was, finding a trash can that my parents were unlikely to find it later on. So I obviously chose the one in the bathroom. So. Brilliant! I slid off the chair like a quiet little ninja and sneaked out of the room, into the bathroom, opened up the cabinet and tossed the chicken in. Die chicken, die! No longer will I have to eat you. I smiled mischievously and crept back into my chair.

"All done!" I exclaimed. Awesome. I would still have time to play before bedtime.

My mom comes in the room and looks at my plate. She stares for what seems like an eternity and then looks me straight in the face. (Oh no.)

"So you ate it all huh?" She says inquisitively. I nod my head and flash her my prettiest toothless grin. She nods her head. "Wow. You ate every last bit." Why is she taking so long? I wonder to myself as I anticipate jumping out of my chair and running to my room to play with my dolls. She takes one last long look at my empty dinner plate and says, "Where's the bone?"

Silence.

My lip quivers and gush! Out come the tears. I regretfully slither out of my chair, with my head hanging down, walk her to the bathroom, open the cabinet door and point into the trash can. I'd been caught and now I was going to have to eat an even more gross piece of chicken because it had been in the trash can for several minutes.

My mom did not make me eat it, but I did get sent to my room. This, I believe was my first protest in eating meat and my first glimpse of my future in later becoming a vegetarian.

There was another time when I was about 4 or 5 years old and my mom was starting a bath for me. I went ahead and got in while the water was still running to give my feet a chance to get used to the temperature. I remember my mom standing by the sink, looking in the mirror when suddenly the sound of a good stream of water, other than what was coming from the faucet, entered the room. My mom looked at me with horror and saw none other than me...stark naked, peeing in the very bath water I was supposed to be bathed in.

To be honest, I do not fully remember the result of this other than my mom screaming "What are you doing?" and grabbing me out of the tainted water as fast as she could. I didn't understand what the big deal was. After all, I had been doing this for some time without her even knowing. I will say though, after that day, I did it no more. Perhaps this explains my present fear of taking a bath unless I know the tub is really clean.

More stories later. Stay tuned.