Having been born genetically predisposed to being a pain in the ass, by the age of two I had a passionate impulse to wreak havoc coupled with a natural aptitude to do so. I know most toddlers are natural cyclones of terror and destruction- but I'd like to believe I was a particularly cunning variety.
I'd go into my room and stand in front of my diapers. Neatly stacked. I'd pick them up, one by one, and throw them over my shoulders in rapid succession without even looking. Just one right after the other. Left, right, left, right. Flying diapers.
My mom would come in and I'd take off running. I knew I was being a little shit- that's always half the thrill of deviance- so when I was punished it was completely warranted.
Near the same age, I used to sit in the bathtub by myself and play while my mom was cooking dinner or folding laundry or doing whatever it is that single moms do at night. I'd sit there and pull all the towels into the water. Why? Because my mom told me not to. Drag the towels into the tub, then push them over the edge and back onto the floor, then back in, then back out. Until the bathroom flooded and there was nothing for me to dry my wily little ass off with.
One time while I was in mid-flood creation, towel in hand, my mom came in.
She picked me up out of the tub and stood me up on the bathroom linoleum. This was back in the good ol' days when it was ok to slap the shit out of your kids for not acting right. So in the time it took her to bend down and pick up one of the towels, I made a break for it.
I ran across the bathroom, naked, soaking wet, running for my life, running for my freedom, running for every kid in the world who ever got spanked. And as my mom turned around to capture me before I could make my crafty escape, I slipped on the linoleum.
As I slipped, my knees buckled and I came down on my right leg as my momentum carried me across the cold, wet floor. I slid across the threshold of the bathroom door and as I came to a stop I slid- fatefully- over a staple that some careless craftsman left sticking out between the linoleum and the hallway carpet.
I can remember my mom holding me on her lap in the bathroom, fixing me up. Me crying- not for the ass whooping I so righteously deserved and unjustly avoided, but for the giant, bloody gash on my tiny little three-year-old leg.
The point being- all checks get cashed some time or another. Sometimes it happens just when you figured it would and other times it comes when you least expect it. It might seem appropriate or it might just fall outta the clear blue sky. Either way, all debts get paid.
And I've got a big ol' scar running up my leg 23 years later to remind me of just that.
And guess what? This totally non-profound news flash applies to everybody.
You're welcome, world.
