What a difference a decade and a half can make

I'm at my parents' house. All evening we've been watching old home videos that I coaxed my brother to get out of the safe. So far we've covered 1992 and 1993. I have been rolling in the floor laughing until I couldn't breathe and tears streamed down my face. There is a Fourth of July clip in which all you can see is some fireworks going off in the yard and our stupid fire-eating dog Bo trying his best to knock them over, while all you can hear is everyone in the family taking turns screaming "Bo! BO! BO BO BO BO BO!!!" at the top of their lungs. I lose my shit when my brother, who was five at the time, screams at that dog repeatedly in his little five-year-old way. He was such a ridiculously cute and precocious kid. Funny that when I was eleven, he didn't seem nearly as cute. In fact, I spend much of my time on film screaming at him and acting like a general ass. Especially when we're flying kites and I can't get mine to take off. I sit on the ground and pout, claiming that my kite and only my kite is a dud. Boo frickin' hoo, chump. Jesus!

You know, I always wondered why boys never liked me in elementary and middle school. Now that I have some distance and perspective, I understand with complete and absolute clarity and don't blame any of my childhood crushes for thinking I had cooties. Oh lord, the high waistlines, the poofy bangs, the headbands, the white Keds, the wedgies, the goofy teeth, the flat butt, the spandex, the sweater vests, the puffy paint and glitter, the drawl, the bark laugh, the stupid jokes. Yikes.

Why my parents weren't constantly smacking me around for being an ass, I'll never know.

Update, 12:46 a.m.



You have not lived until you have seen my mother and me cover "I Saw The Light" -- that wholesome ditty about adultery by Wynonna Judd -- in our matching white T-shirts crowned with hot pink bandannas, bejeweling, and fringe. And matching white Keds.

Have. Not. Lived.