7.08.2006

"When we were small, Flo labeled everything with masking tape and a black permanent marker. She says this was so we would learn to read early. So we would know what things were, where they were supposed to go.

I ask her now, does anyone really know this? What to call things? Does everything really have a place?

The places on the wall of the garage where the gardening tools went were all marked: HOE, BROOM, RAKE, FAN RAKE, CLIPPERS, DIRT SHOVEL, SNOW SHOVEL. We knew exactly what was expected of us: "Go get me the dirt shovel, please," our mother would say. We knew which one this was. We knew where it would be.

The floor of the garage was divided up like a parking lot: RED BIKE, GREEN BIKE, WAGON, WHEEL BARROW, TRICYCLE. Our spots were up near the door, at the front of the garage.

I tell Flo now that it was the only time in my life when I've had such a fabulous parking spot.

Flo says she did it so she wouldn't have to move our damn bikes every time she wanted to park her car. She didn't want to be the kind of mother who spent all of her time nagging the children to pick up their things. And it worked. We felt important, pulling into our special parking spots, putting the kickstand down with authority.

I tell Flo now, that in some ways, I wish she hadn't done this.

I expected the world to be so much more organized. I expected to know what to call things. I expected there to be a place already marked for me."
posted at 09:53

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Lies were told instead.