Saturday, March 5, 2011

What Keys?

When I was little we lived in a small house next to the train tracks in Provo, Utah. My dad was in law school at BYU and my mom was taking undergrad courses, and of course they worked. I was the third of four children that had been born (there ended up being a fifth, but she came a few years later) before my dad graduated from law school.

We were poor then, and even though we had lots of toys to play with I would always make up games with random household items. One morning I was walking through the living room into the kitchen when something shiny caught my eye. It was my mom's keys. Oh joy! I knew right away what I was going to do with those keys. I was going to play catch... with myself. How was I going to do that you ask. Oh it was a plan in my head before I even grabbed those keys. I was so excited. It was going to be so fun. And the best part? I was all alone in the living room and nobody was going to bother me.

So I snatched up the keys and stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. I faced the front door stretched my arm back and let the keys go with all of my might! Before they even landed I was congratulating myself on the great throw. But how far can a toddler throw keys... not very far. I was either a wimp or a weakling or something else all together, who knows, but those keys only went like 4 feet. So I went to where they landed and turned around and got myself all set up to throw them again. This time I took a little step when I threw them and they went a little farther. Yes! I am great. I thought that I was the strongest kid in the world. I might have even let out a little Incredible Hulk roar and tried to rip my shirt off...maybe. When I grabbed them the third time I knew that I was going to at least hit the front door, if not blow it off of the hinges and get the keys out into the yard. As I got my stance and threw the keys I knew something was wrong before they even hit the floor. I watched them crash into the floor and saw the keyring fly apart. It was like slow motion in my toddler eyes. The keys flew everywhere.!

I panicked. I grabbed what I could find and shuffled all around the living room looking for somewhere to hide the keys. In my mind I had broken something that was irreplaceable. And I knew that my mom was gonna be really mad.

That is when I saw the book on the bookshelf. I knew it was the best place to hide the keys and keyring. I opened it up and shoved everything inside, and I closed the book. I then pushed down as hard as I could on the cover trying to get it to shut all of the way. I could not figure out where my strength had gone. I was the HULK, a giant green monster a minute ago, and now I am no stronger then a kitty cat. As I was panicking to get the book closed I heard a noise and decided the best thing to do was just run away. Fast. So I ran downstairs and decided to play something else, anything else.

Well, as what happens with most small children I forgot all about the problem once I was busy with something else. Some time passed (I am not sure how much time. I was busy playing and I was two or three for goodness sakes), and my mom was running around trying to get us ready to leave the house so she could go to class. (I think. Maybe it was work, but I think it was class.) That was when the yelling started. She couldn't find her keys. In my mind I thought, keys, keys, what are keys. Then I remembered. Oh crap. She is gonna kill me.

So I watched for a while. She was searching everywhere for those things. Sam was helping, I am supposed to be helping but I really just want to sit in the twirly 1960's chair that we had in the living room. I was content to watch it all play out. Finally the keys were found. But the one key that was not there was the car key. CRAP!! I missed a key. By this time I was standing by the bookcase looking at the broken keyring like it was an alien and like I had never seen a key before in my life. The following is the dialog:


(This went on for about 5 minutes with neither Sam nor I answer her except to say things like not me, huh, I don't know, and similar 2 to 4 year old child answers.)

When I was about to crack because I thought that we were both going to get beat to death with wet noodles Sam suddenly says: "It was me. I did it. Sorry."

What? What? Music to my little ears. Of course I look at him in shock and dismay. But in my mind I was thinking, FREEDOM!!! I WILL LIVE TO SEE ANOTHER DAY!!

At that point my mom put Sam in his room for the rest of the afternoon. I think he got spanked for not telling her when it happened. I was so torn up that he would do something like break something and hide it from Mom, that she let me have 2 Popsicles and I got to go outside and play for the rest of the day.

So what did we learn from all of this? I learned that Sam will save you when your a$$ is on the line :) So if you ever get arrested, you know who to call.

*We do talk about this story a lot at my parents house when we are all together. Sam has said that he admitted to it because he thought that maybe he did do it and then forgot about it. I just did not want to get into trouble, period. I guess at this point I not only can take the blame for Sam becoming the miscreant that he is today, but also that I owe him a Popsicle.


Diana Croshaw said...

Yay! I love it that you'll be sharing some stories! My blogging has become such uber-crap that I don't even want to start up again. Don't know how I'm going to get my mojo back, but til I do, I'll just enjoy your stories!

CBalmanno said...

Except when he DID do something (carve my name on the kitchen table/chairs) and then let someone else take the fall (and the beating). He gave as good as he took.