Back in the Day

Writing about my experience growing up with a disability was very cathartic for me. So why not tell you about my life in general? I’ll start by telling you about my early years, between 1993 and 1999.

The older you get, the more disjointed and vague those early memories get. There are sounds, smells, and colors that send me back to the 90s, when I was too young to be self-conscious and to see my parents as anything less than perfect. The Seinfeld guitar riff. The smell of chlorine and sunscreen. Prune-colored corduroy. The tinted windows of my dad’s old car. The antique figurines all over my Grandma Claire’s Del Ray Beach condo. Nora Jones singing about the letter Y on Sesame Street. Okay, that was the early 2000s. It all blurs together after a while.

I grew up in a little townhouse at the bottom of a steep hill in Northern Virginia. Pets were a part of my life from the beginning. When I was taken home from the hospital, it was to my parents, Max the dog, Caesar the cat, and two mischievous ferrets named Sally and Tom. The ferrets would steal my binkie and other toys and hide them in a pile in the corner of my parents’ bathroom. Although I lived 20 months as an only child, my sister and I might as well be twins because I can’t remember life before Rachel. It’s always been the two of us. Best friends one moment, bitter enemies the next, then back to friends again in an instant. While I was always cautious, serious, and girly, Rachel was a quintessential tomboy, constantly climbing trees, skinning her knees, and getting dirty. She pushed me to go on adventures I probably would have avoided otherwise. Though often, it was just me wringing my hands neurotically as I watched her do something slightly risky.

When I think of my best early memories, they all involve my mother’s best friends. Every summer, my mom and sister would go to Ocean City for a week with my Godmother Debbie and their other friend Valerie. They were both so different than my mother, who was reserved. Debbie was a southern beauty queen with big hair, sexy outfits, and tanned skin. Valerie kind of looked like Cher in the Witches of Eastwick. Wild, curly jet black hair, chunky turquoise jewelry, and a wardrobe that was almost entirely black clothes. She had the most incredible laugh—more like a cackle or a bark or a scream. She wasn’t someone who really liked kids, but she liked us and that meant something. Both Debbie and Valerie could be scary, too, when they were mad. My mother is a very sweet and kind woman, but that meant it was easy to walk all over her and run her down. When we were brats, Debbie and Valerie were there to tell us off. All Valerie had to do was give me a deadly glare, and I’d snap my mouth shut and behave. Both ladies were unmarried, and they were always telling my mom to stand up to my dad, who could be mean and controlling at times. At an early age, they were role models for me to never let a man tell me how to live my life. I thought they were both so cool.

Speaking of my dad, in the early years, I was quite the daddy’s girl. My dad loved to talk. If he got started, he could talk at you for hours about anything. When I was little, I thought he was fascinating. I’d be sat in the kitchen, eating a peanut butter sandwich, while Dad told me all about how vast the universe is, about the possible existence of multiple dimensions. I remember once exclaiming, “Daddy, you’re a genius!” He had laughed and shook his head, “No, I’m not.” But to me, he was. He seemed to know everything about everything. I loved my dad so much, but I also feared him at times. When he got mad, he got really mad. In many ways, he was like a little boy trapped in an adult’s body. Easily offended, easily entertained, and in need of constant attention and reassurance. Dad loved Saturday morning cartoons more than Rachel and I did. We’d watch Johnny Bravo, Cow & Chicken, and Courage the Cowardly Dog together, with bowls of Captain Crunch and he’d always laugh the hardest. While we saw my mom’s side of the family often (my Grandma Betty, Aunt Ginny, Cousin Paula, and Uncle Mike), we only saw my dad’s relatives once a year at most.

My grandparents lived in Florida, and our rare visits were some of my favorite memories. Grandpa Dan would let me piggyback on his weary shoulders and was constantly giving my sister and I riddles to solve. There’s one memory I have of him proudly watching me count grapes. He was a painter, and we still have some of his art up in our house. My Grandma Claire adored us. She let me rummage through her jewelry box and try things on. They both died way earlier than I would have liked. I wish we had more memories.

When I was about four years old, my cousin Jeremy (my dad’s nephew) came to live with us while he went to college. We adored Cousin Jeremy. He would flip us upside down and let us walk on the ceiling and was always ready to play with us. When he eventually moved out, he left us what I considered to be the holy grail of possessions: his Nintendo 64. Gaming is still a favorite hobby of mine to this day. I used to sneak out of bed when I was little and peer into the living room to spy on my parents playing Super Mario Bros on the Super Nintendo Entertainment System. So when we finally got our own gaming console, I was thrilled. From then on, whenever Cousin Jeremy visited, we’d make him help us get a new star on Mario 64.

I started preschool rather early, at two years old. My mom became a preschool teacher at Tiny Tots and I was able to attend for a discounted price. From two years old until Kindergarten I went there, and I made some wonderful childhood friends. There was Jacob (a boy I had a love-hate relationship with) Emily, whose mom also worked at the preschool, and Shoko who was essentially my best friend at the time. I’m grateful for Tiny Tots because I think it really gave me an educational head start. I had memorized my birthday, home phone number, and address by three years old, and already knew how to read by the time I started Kindergarten, thanks to several Hooked On Phonics lessons. We went on so many fun field trips together, I distinctly remember peeling the red wax off of a slice of balogna at Chuck E. Cheese. (Do they still put the red wax on balogna?)

This is also around the time I was introduced to the Goosebumps series. I remember a group of the older kids (by older, I mean they were in Kindergarten while I was probably 3 years old lol) were playing a card game with Goosebumps cards. I was fascinated by the creepy and grotesque art on the covers. And as it turns out, the first book I ever read on my own was The Barking Ghost by R.L. Stine.

I honestly wish I had more to talk about, but the memories are so fuzzy from back then. Just wait until we get into the elementary school years…that shit was crazy ꩜