Our "neighbor" (way out in the country, that could be applied to people who lived 6-7 miles away) and longstanding family friend, Alicia, used to call me "Nate the Reprobate". Not in a mean way, in an endearing way. I always liked the word and accepted the moniker for years and years before I bothered to figure out what it meant.
From merriam-webster.com:
Reprobate: foreordained to damnation : morally corrupt
Ha ha, i swear she was't being mean, and the older I get the more I like the first part. Foreordained to damnation. That's good stuff, for a good word.
One of my earliest memories (I think the earliest one of all, actually) is of staying over at Alicia's house when my brother was being born. I would have been not quite 4... yeah, definitely my earliest real solid memory. I was snuggled up on a comfy couch in the living room, but the unfamiliar sleeping environment got to me. There were scary shadows everywhere, and over by the door to the kitchen, a knight in armor. Spooky. What was he doing over there? I began to cry and whimper, softly, trying not to be a bother. Eventually Alicia came out, and I don't know what I said or how well I could communicate at the time, but I think she got me a glass of water, rubbed my back, and most importantly turned on a light or two, revealing that the knight by the doorway was actually a big house plant. I don't remember driving there with a laboring mom, I don't remember meeting my new brother for the first time, but I remember that scary knight clearly. Why? It's interesting.
No comments:
Post a Comment