Here’s mine. It’s part of family history but still makes me cringe.
I hereby challenge you to post your own. Let’s keep it to pre-adolescent stories, I’m sure we all have plenty of tales of awkward sexual encounters, or non-encounters but let’s keep this thread to more innocent times.
Our story begins, dear reader, in New Zealand in the late 1950’s. I went to kindergarten (that’s what it was called, not “kindy” or “nursery school” or “pre-school”). It was in a church hall, and I think I went a few mornings a week. I brought either lunch, or morning tea, or something, anyway, my mother insisted that as part of this I should have half an apple. Note the “half”. We all know what happens to apples when they are cut open – yes, they turn all brown and horrible. So by the time it came to open our snack, my apple was, for my 4 year old taste buds, inedible. So I did what any sensible 4 year old would do, I took it into the kitchen and hid it behind the kettle. This went on for several days, until one day I discovered the previous day’s piece of fruit still there, even more festerous than it had been on its original placement. Horrified, I looked around me, desperate to find a way out, only to discover that I had been sprung. The Very Nice and Kind matronly lady was smiling knowingly. She must have said some Very Nice and Kind matronly words as it was never mentioned again. And I never did it again.
Fast forward folks, to a few years later. My mother STILL insists on including an apple, by now a whole one, in my school lunch, however by this time I have gone off the bloody things big time, and resorted to various methods to dispose of the offending fruit.
(I should mention here that first of all there was NO WAY I could EVER have suggested to her that I should not have an apple in my lunch. And also I never contemplated simply throwing the offending item in the bin).
My first method was inspired. Walking home from school one day I offered my friend Colin an apple – he accepted, and from then on I’d regularly offer him one as we made our way home. The REALLY stupid thing was, Colin’s family owned the fruit and vegetable shop where my Mum had bought the bloody things from in the first place.
I can’t remember what happened to end this ideal solution, but it did end, and by then the only thing I could do now was to bring them home, and I just put them in a drawer in my bedroom. One by one, every day.
The upshot was that when we came to do the “holiday clean-up”, which my mother insisted on doing in our bedrooms every school holidays, she noticed a rather fruity smell in my bedroom.
The game was up. I can remember the discovery, and feeling devastated. There was probably a jolly-good talking to, and I suspect much amusement from both my parents. As I said it is now part of family history. The thing is, somehow after that I still ended up having my mother’s “apple-a-day” in my lunch for the next however many years, and I suppose I bravely ate them
Reading this back it’s probably the most pathetic post ever here. But WTF I”m going with it.
I’ll get my coat and check in later.