Josephine's Story

So, the first thing I remember was looking up, and seeing some strange creature way taller than my sister or me. He was poking us, looking at us, and then picking us up. That was the weirdest thing. Being picked up and taken so far from the ground. It scared me.

The next thing I remember was two other creatures who looked similar, but somehow different, coming in and looking at my sister and me. They were smiling, and they spoke softly. They took us away from this strange place we didn't like, but they took us to another strange place. It was smaller, but somehow nicer, warmer. There we found a friend like us. Only Peanut was big. Really big. I wondered if we would ever be that large. He taught us many cool things, like how to clean ourselves with our tongues and poop in this special box that stopped it from smelling horrible. He also taught us how not to bite too hard and many cool cat things. He was very cool, and seemed like he could replace our - what's the word - parent? Something we miss but don't know what it is. The two big people called me Eponine, and my sister was Cosette. Then, right as we were getting comfortable with these super tall beings who smiled and played with us, MORE of them showed up. Two more, to be exact.

They came in, and naturally, my sister Cosette and I wanted nothing to do with them. They were tall, they smelled weird, and let's face it, They were BIG! They forced us to play with them, which wasn't so bad. Peanut seemed to not like them at all, and kept hissing at them and yelling, which for some reason they thought was cute. I think he knew they were going to take us away. He already missed being an uncle to us. The female one kept saying that she wanted something small to love and nurture. I wasn't sure what that meant, but we figured it out shortly. After playing for a while they unceremoniously stuffed us in this yellow box and started taking us somewhere else! We protested loudly, but they paid no mind.

I had no idea the world was so big. We saw so many things! There were places with some people and some cats, places with only people, places where I could not see any ceiling and there was this bright thing way high up that made it hot. We were on this one thing for a while that made noise and went super fast. I didn't know anything could run that fast. Maybe one day I'll run like that. And then, we stopped somewhere comfortable. It's hard to describe, but it felt good, like we were meant to be there. Even though it was unfamiliar, it felt familiar somehow.

They took us out of the yellow box, put us down on this warm floor, and we could run! There were so many new smells and new things to explore. There were things we could scratch, strings and mice to play with, even this lame bird that didn't move or try to fly away! I loved it. Cosette loved it too. She's whiny though, and every time I try to wrestle with her, she whines and tries to get me to stop. She just doesn't know that she likes it yet. At first, they called me Eponine, and then Jasmine, then Jamocha, and then Josephine. That's what they call me the most now, besides, "Hey!" The big female one we are now calling 'mommy' loves to play with us, and the big male tries to be serious and father-like, but he just dissolves into playing with us and being goofy so easily. We've been in this new place for a few weeks now, but it's still exciting. Every time I think we have seen it all, they open some new door or I smell something new coming in from outside. It's nice. Even though the big people leave often, they always come back. They make sure we have enough food and water, which is nice. I think we are going to like it here.

It's story time

So, I (Justin) have been doing some writing while here. I have begun work on many, many projects, one of which is something akin to memoirs, assuming a 27 year-old with hopefully more than half his life ahead of him can have memoirs. At the very least, I am putting down stories from my childhood while I can remember them and have time. My wife liked the one I read her so much that she convinced me to post it here. With that, I give you the story of how I split my head open the first time.

When I was four, the first of many traumatic experiences happened to me. We were at Vacation Bible School, which was basically week-long Sunday School. When you are four, however, it is nothing short of the funnest thing all summer. It was lunch time in the middle of the week, and all we assorted hellions were corralled in the cafeteria space. Because I was a four year-old boy, I had the appetite of a termite and the grace of a firecracker. I finished early as I always did, and I came to an amazingly momentous decision in the life of any four year-old. I was going to show everyone how strong I was! I mean, I am four years-old. You can't really get any bigger or better until you are actually a daddy, so rock on!

I sprinted across the gym to the equipment room. Why it was unlocked and able to be accessed by small children, I will never know. I spotted three or four ladders stacked on top of each other. These are the really short A-frame kinds you used to find in gyms across wherever, used for obstacle courses etc. To my mighty four year-old stature, they were gargantuan and tall, perfect for my daring feet of strength. I dragged them (I'm not sure how) to the door and out onto the concrete in front of the volleyball court. I then tied one end of a jump rope to myself, and the other to one of the rungs or supports on the lowest A-frame, and set out on my titantic quest. I would pull them across the gym, and everyone would marvel at how strong I was! I remember this thought process consciously, noting my early need to prove my worth to those around me.

Now, I had never heard the term physics let alone 'friction,' so I can honestly blame my error in judgment on ignorance, not stupidity. I gave a mighty tug, and then felt the line go slack. This puzzled me as I was supposed to feel it give slightly and then groan in resistance as my herculean strength hauled it across the concrete floor. I began to turn just in time to feel something very solid thump into the back of my head. That is about all I remember by myself. The story picks up with the attendants running screaming across the gym to find me lying in a puddle of blood with a small pile of ladders on top of me while I scream my head off. At least I think I was. I'll claim that I was screaming. It sounds better than passing out like a pansy three year-old.

Now, this particular Vacation Bible School was run by our church's co-op daycare. It so happened that on this particular day, my mother was there serving in the room with the children too small to cause ultimate disasters. I still remember who picked me up whilst screaming, willing to get my god-like blood all over them. It was Leslie Garl. She rushed me to the daycare room where my mother was. My mom happened to be on the phone with my father at work discussing something parental and domestic. As Leslie carried me crying (my expression of pain had matured greatly by now) into the same room as my mother, my mom's eyes grew wide. She began to edge away from the phone. "Oh my God! Justin's covered in blood!" *Click* My dad was left wondering helplessly 8 miles away what had happened to his oldest child. He very calmly called the daycare back.

"Oh hi Phil. Actually, no, your wife is kind of busy right now. Well, yes, your son has been hurt, I'm not sure..." Enter the calm, serene, and imposing voice of my loving father.
"NO. STOP. YOU ARE GOING TO GET DEBBIE ON THE PHONE RIGHT NOW AND HAVE HER TELL ME EXACTLY WHAT HAPPENED TO MY SON."

That is about where this particular memory stops, and the family breaks into chuckling over a holiday meal, reliving the first of many momentous injuries I have chalked up.