When I was little, my brother and I did the classic “rough housing” thing in the back seat of the car, just far enough out of reach that my dad’s swinging arm could not smack us. We had a game (which now that I think about it, was kind of abusive) where I had to answer a question he put to me like: “Why is the sky blue?” or “How heavy is the human head?” or “How do you build a bomb in the basement?” All stuff he knew from reading Encyclopedias or the How To manuals he got in the mail.
If he stumped me, which he almost always did (the human head weighs 11 pounds by the way…), he wet his pointer and middle fingers, flicked his wrist and snapped me on the arm hard enough to leave red marks – I’d scream and my dad would say, “If I have to stop this car…”
I thought of that little piece of Americana this morning because I was sitting in Starbucks and a great song came on called “Rock, Paper, Scissors” (another game that hurt so good on long car trips…). It was one of those songs that fit the situation to a tea – a full moon was just giving way to a new day, I am writing a sobriety blog on the other side of a dark time and I am learning to live with the decisions I have made.
Even though I am not where I intended. Even though looking out of a long ago Buick window, rubbing my arm and dreaming little-girl dreams, I never imagined this journey…
“Rock, paper, scissors
Which one is it? It’s your decision
And no matter what you choose
You gonna live it
Rock, paper, scissors…” Katzenjammer