taking out the trash

My brother, Damian, was born in 1967. When my mom was pregnant with him, she talked about naming him Damian John. My father balked and said he would call him DJ. We never did. It's Damian. Dame for short.

When Damian Sr. was 3, I was 8. Sesame Street was brand new. He got to watch it every morning as I recall, while we were getting ready for school... or maybe when we got home. I just remember it being on and thinking it was for mainly for him. I remember my Mom was thrilled that there were 'educational' programs he could watch. She was really into health food and healthy toys.

One time, Mom and her friend loaded us all into the family station wagon (the same one I totaled on my first time out, after picking up Elena from her job at Bigboys), and took us to a place called "Creative Playthings". She bought wood toys and blocks in various shapes, a wood slide that she put on the stairs in our house. I remember spending hours alone in the basement, building 2-story houses for my Barbies. Mom also got a swing on a rope that she hung from the rafter in the basement which was fun. I remember a tunnel thing which was made from a large coil of wire with fabric. It was like 10 feet long and could double as an inside fort. Then she got these old fashioned desks so we could play school. Play school. And a toy kitchen set. We made a restaurant with a menu. The potatoes were rocks from the yard.

One Saturday morning, we were all playing down there when we heard Mom yelling right above us. She was up in the kitchen and evidently had discovered cinnamon sugar spilled in the cabinet and on the counter. Must have been someone making cinnamon toast.

" Whoooo made this SUGAR MESS!?!"

Mom had a slight temper, which generally under control, could be set off by the vision of filth or chaos in her home. Her voice would creshendo, something like a volcano. Start out softly and build into a screaming pitch in one sentence, usually when she couldn't find something. "wheres my grapeFRUIT SPOON?!!! We knew it well. I think I do that too actually. It's like the emotion catches up to the visual.

My sister Elena, probably about 9 years old at the time, asked me to take the fall.

" Gina, will you say that you did it? Mom never yells at you. Nothing will happen, but if she finds out it was me, it will be worse. I'm gonna get hit. Please please please say it was you!"

I took it as an opportunity for gain.

" Well how much is worth to you?" (IE. "What will you give me...")

"Well what do you want? How about 5 dollars, when I grow up?"

"That's not enough for this. I could get clobbered up there."

" No Gina, you NEVER get hit. She's just gonna yell and you clean it up and it will be over."

" You don't know that."

"OK. Six dollars to take care of this for me."

" Not enough. I'll do it for seven."

" Seven....hmmm OK, but you have to wait 'til we grow up."

" OK. No problem."

"Thank you SO much."

" OK."

I remember getting my courage up.

" I'm going up."

"Thanks, I'll never forget this."

" Neither will I."

I remember she hugged me.

" Don't ever tell."

" I won't. But don't forget the seven bucks."

"When I grow up."

"Right."

I trusted Elena. No need to get it in writing. I went up to face my mother, a martyr, completely innocent.

"YOU did this?"

"Yes."

Elena was right.

" Get over there and clean it up. Don't EVER do that again. We'll get ANTS. Now get that cabinet cleaned out too!" I almost felt as if she knew I didn't do it. I wiped up the mess and ran back down.

"Did you get hit?"

" Nope, she hardly even yelled."

" See?"

" It was nothing. I just wiped it up. She wasn't even hardly mad."
I remember thinking it was an easy 7 bucks. Not a bad deal...

" Thank you so much!! I PROMISE I'll pay you that seven bucks someday. AND get you anything you want at the store when I can drive. Any candy you want."

It was a bonding thing for us. Years later she made good on our agreement.