Chipped Teeth

Summers are always the best when you're little (okay...they're the best at any age!) And the summer before first grade was no different. Rollerblades were fresh and my brother and I spent countless hours rolling around.

I was, of course, the more cautious one but pretty much did anything my [older] brother challenged me too. One precarious afternoon my brother insisted I keep trying a trick he mastered, until I too could manage it. (I don't really remember the exact trick...) Then...

Crack! Head first into the cement with no time to slow down my head enough. Front tooth, half gone.

A trip to the local dental college took care of the situation. But six months later...while my brother and I swinging our Sega controllers like sling shots...WHAM! My other front tooth, half gone. A "white" lie to my dad, "we were just sitting here...musta been loose from the time before" followed by another trip to the dental college.

Summers are the best because they are conducive to making great memories.

Aren't you too old not to know English?

The first time my grandparents crossed the Caribbean to come live with us for a couple of years, I didn't understand them. Spanish for them, English for me.

One particularly frustrating day, I stormed into my mom's room...

"You know abuela and abuelo? They are so old and they don't even know English! You need to send them back!"

My mom always says the right thing: "Well, look at how old you are (I was 3) and you don't know Spanish!"

Oh. My bad.

I don't think the whole not understanding Spanish thing lasted very long.


(P.S. This is a day I have literally forgotten, but I have the joy of having my mom recount it at least a couple times a year ;))

I love the feeling.

Remembering something, some day, some time I had forgotten. Happy memories. I don't want to forget the ones I was fortunate enough to remember. That's where this blog comes in!