Terri's Cellar Door

Stuff that happens to me, Terri.

Sunday, June 29, 2008


Heeeeey, there. Long time no see. So, just checking in, you know, been really busy these days. Tomorrow I'm going to post part one of a story, later this week the rest, among other things. I'll also be updating a bit more, don't you worry your pretty little heads. Until then...

Tuesday, June 03, 2008

True Story

The battery on my laptop is messed up again, and I hate writing posts on strange computers, but I haven't completely fallen off the planet, in case that's what you were wondering. I've mostly been playing Runescape and looking for a job. Anyway, this came to me in a dream, and then I forgot it in another dream, but then I remembered it and wrote it here. Don't you love how things always come full circle? Meanwhile:

When I was in about fourth grade, we were still having show and tell. I was a little old for it at this point, but I enjoyed the process and love talking about myself. I still do. Hence this whole blog shenanigan. Anyway, so I drew a picture of my dad and his Seeing Eye dog. Seeing Eye is basically a brand of guide dogs for the disabled. My dad is blind. So, anyway, for about three years, I thought that the name of the people was C&I dogs. Instead of Seeing Eye. I dunno, I was a kid. Kids are stupid. It's not their fault. So, here I am giving this show and tell about my dad's new C&I dog, and after a minute or so, my teacher interrupts me.

"Are you sure that it's C&I?"

Me in that know it all, kid really doesn't know what they're talking about voice: "Uh, yeah."

So, my teacher lets that obvious incorrect statement go and moves on.

"So, how did your dad become blind?"

I don't mind talking about my dad's blindness. I mostly take it for a fact of life at this point, and it's not a sore issue. My dad doesn't have the least bit of reservation with telling somebody he's blind (he uses it to his advantage in a lot of cases, which has me thinking that if I want to get over on some bill collectors or state inspectors or something, I should just tell them that I'm blind over the phone), so I don't either. The story goes like this: My dad was born with a condition that gave him weak retinas, and he'd always had bad vision. When he was in the army, he worked fixing communications poles and spent a lot of time on the top of them. One day, he fell off one, and it dislodged one of is retinas. He went into the VA hospital for surgery (in New York somewhere or something), and they made a mistake and operated on the wrong eye. Now, he's 100% disabled, and has no sight in either eye. Thanks Uncle Sam! Meanwhile, we didn't sue the gov't., but they pay for his kids schooling, among other things, so we'll make it somehow. He was pretty pissed about the whole thing at first, but now it's just one of many things on his body that doesn't work the way it was originally designed to, and I feel like he's resigned himself to it. But, I digress. This is how I told the story about my dad in elementary school:

"So, how did your dad become blind?"

Me (thinking I was lucky to have another few moments in the precious, precious spotlight that I crave so desperately): "Well, my dad was born with weak rectums."

My teacher (and the assistant teacher) stop me right there with peals of laughter: "I don't think that's what you mean."

Now, they're laughing pretty uproariously at this point, and instead of standing there with a stupid look on my face (because I was stupid and had a tenuous grasp on the meaning of the word retina, and no understanding of the word rectum, I had probably read it in a book without understanding it) I began laughing. It was like the teachers and I were having this private little joke that nobody else understood.

"Yeah, I guess that's not what I meant."

I had no idea what we were laughing at. I was just laughing. It's like when you listening to somebody talk, and you aren't really listening, but you're listening well enough to know when to nod at the right places, but if somebody put a gun to your head, you wouldn't have been able to tell them what the person had just said. If somebody had pointed a magnum with hollow point bullets right at my temple, I would not have been able to explain what the hell was so funny, but there I was, my 10 year old self, laughing like a loon over something that I didn't even get. I've thought a lot about that moment, that's kinda what made me write about it on here. I still don't understand what made me do that. I don't understand my motivation. A part of me has always felt more at ease with adults than with my own peers. I know where I stand with older people, I say "Yes, maam" or "No, sir" and I'm that polite little girl who helped with the groceries. I know how to deal with people a lot younger than me (but not too young). I recently talked to a roomful of middle schoolers and kept them entertained for minutes (gasp). It's just people my own age that I don't know how to deal with. I'm always ashamed of how I act, or my appearance, I don't know if ashamed is the right word. I just never feel mature enough. Especially now, when I feel like I should doing adult things, but I have basically nothing in my life together. There's a lot of things to think about when you get older, and I just dunno if I'm ready to deal with them. Which is a shame, because meanwhile I'm 25 and still living with my parents. I guess a part of me will always be that little girl, laughing at a joke that she doesn't understand.

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