Holy Mackerel

Some childhood memories are never forgotten. It is surprising that even what might seem like the most mundane, idiotic and immature of events can become such an ingrained part of who you become as an adult. When I went back to college in September,  I had mixed feelings. Here I was, a middle-aged mom who's been out of school for 20 years, going back, knowing full well that my class would most probably be filled with nubile young things who thought they were pretty darn hot, smart, and amazing. I was scared. Scared of what they might think of me, scared they would laugh at me. Just scared. I was also very excited to be entering a new and very big part of my life, a part that could make me a much happier, more self-fulfilled person, something I have not felt for a long time. But, try as I might, those feelings of fear and insecurity kept looming up, overwhelming the excitement that kept trying to keep its head above water. What it came down to, I finally realized, was that I w...

The bowl of ice cream sits beside me. Frost lines the bowl. The spoon shifts as the mound begins to melt ever so slightly. I take a spoonful and let it rest on my tongue. The chocolate envelopes my every sense. My mind goes back in time. I am nine years old. It's summertime. The heat rises from the pavement in front of the house, waves of vibrating heat, so thick I'm sure I could touch it. The buzz of junebugs fills the air. I spend my days on my bike, or running through neighbour's yards, soaking in the sun's energy, so happy to be alive. I feel happy, healthy, and am able to forget about the sadness that rests inside my home. My father comes home from working a hard shift. His familiar smell as he walks in the door greets me. Sweat, oil, fatigue. He works hard. I check his pockets and pull out the slim box of gum he always seems to have. I feel like he keeps the gum there for me. Fruit-flavoured. My favourite. I take a couple of pieces, a special treat, and replace ...