It was on a Gold Rush field trip in fourth grade. My grade packed our sleeping bags and extra pairs of clothes and loaded up on two school buses for the unbearably long ride of three hours up to this old-time gold rush era reenactment camp. We panned for gold, received our Gold rush names, and on the last day visited a saloon, where we were given chips and the option of playing black jack with cards to increase our drink-buying money.
Black-Jack was the beginning of the end for me.
I had never played before, and of course couldn't ask for advice because that would show how ignorant I was, so I tried to watch and pick it up.
Ok.....the dealer gives each person a card. They put a chip down in the middle of the card table, look at it and either say "hit me" or "stay." Then if they say "hit me" the dealer gives them another card. The everyone shows their cards and one person gets all the chips.
It seems pretty easy and I definitely want to be able to buy a soda at the "bar." (walk to the array of cards and put down a chip) I'm in. Um, another card.......hit me? Shoot! I lost a chip. I'll try another round because I can't even buy a soda with the one chip I have left. I'm in again. Yup, hit me. Oh, I lost another chip, so now I have none.
The black jack game ended and all the players lined up at the bar to get their old fashioned sodas. I looked around and everyone else had a drink in their hand. I was the only one who didn't know how to play a simple card game. I rushed to a teacher and asked where the bathroom was, so I could hide. As my eyes welled up with tears, I pushed open the door marked "Ladies." I ran into a stall and put my head against the inside of the stall door, trying to take deep breaths. Don't cry. Don't you dare cry. Breathe. Wipe the tears.
When I came out of the bathroom, everyone was holding a letter. The teacher explained that our parents had written us letters and they had been delivered by the Pony Express. The teacher gave me mine and I walked to a corner to read it alone as everyone else laughed at their letters in groups.
Look at it! Look how distinct this is! Marbled pink with a vine design around the edges marks this as MY mom's envelope and stationary. She was trying to be a special mom, but she just doesn't realize that all I want her to be is specially just like everyone else's mom. Why couldn't she just be boring with a white envelope and white printer paper? Why did she have to hand write it, so anyone standing across the room can tell that she cared so much as to physically write out the letters? How over-loving!
I don't want to read it. If this is how she packages her words, I can't really bear to read what she wrote. But I can't not read it, then everyone will know how awful my mom's letter is.
(unfold letter gingerly, while looking at everyone else read their letters. Glance down and quickly skims the letter, cringing as she reads the most tender and heartfelt sentences)
I'm so proud of you....for what?! I hope you managed to find some gold to make us rich....thanks mom, you really think that I am such a kid as to actually believe in this "panning for gold thing?" Dad's gone hunting.....ugh, no he's just gone to teach computer classes. Technology in the real world. It's not 1849 mom! I don't know why you're pretending. For me or for your own fantasies- I don't care its too awful for words!
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment