Friday, March 31, 2006

ThePeach, Parks, and Poop.

I’m feeling reminiscent today, and the warm weather and sunshine that are mocking me from outside my dungeon-office take me back to some very specific and odd memories. Thus, I feel like sharing more heart-warming tales of childhood adventure that took place with TigerCat while under the supervision of my Dad. If you need a refresher, see

So, as you may recall, TigerCat and I spent every second weekend with my Dad for the majority of our childhood. And sometimes my dad was too damn cheap to take us to play mini-putt, or he was tired of acting as a human shield to protect me from a putter-wielding 4 year old TigerCat (“YOU DAMN BITZ!!!”), so he would take us to a park to let us run around like maniacs until we were tired enough to keep quiet long enough so that he could take a nap.

Ah, the joys of forced parenthood.

So, my dad would put us in our wind-breakers, ask TigerCat about 25 times if she needed to go to the bathroom (“NO, I DON’T!!”), double-knot our sneakers, and stuff us in the car to drive us to one of the various parks in his neighbourhood, invariably with a stop at a gas station along the way so that TigerCat could go to the bathroom (“DAD, I NEED TO PEE, DAMNIT!”). God, she was a treat as a child.

Then the fights would begin about which park we wanted to go to. TigerCat and I had named the parks in the area according to their most appealing feature. The “sliding park” had one of those cables with a handle-bar at one end where you could slide from a platform at the top of the hill to a platform at the bottom of the hill. Or, if you were a spaz like me, you could fall halfway down, get the wind knocked out of you, break your glasses (have I mentioned that I was, how do I say this delicately, a big fucking geek as a child?), and eat dirt. I liked the sliding park the best. I’ve always been a glutton for punishment.

There was also the “1-2-3 Park”. The 1-2-3 park had not 1, not 2, but 3 small jungle gyms set up in what seemed like an endless stretch of grass. Number 1 park had the best slide. Number 2 had some kick ass monkey-bars. And Number 3 had a climbing set in the shape of a fucking elephant. A fucking elephant! It was pure engineering genius. My dad got a huge kick out of setting TigerCat, who was afraid of everything for most of her childhood, on the top wrung of the elephant and leaving her there until she cried. Frankly, I got a kick out of it, too.

It’s ok, she later channeled her resentment into aggression when my mom signed her up for children’s hockey. I think that 8 years of cross-checking other children is probably the only reason why she doesn’t hate us.

There was also the “ring-go-round park”, which featured one of those merry-go-rounds with the bars that you could hang onto while you went zooming around in a vomit-inducing circle. TigerCat usually vomited. She had a sensitive stomach.

So, these were our parks. We loved them. We owned them. And frankly, it was a pleasant change from the other activities my dad would come up with to entertain us on the weekends. Like “shoot raisins out of your nose and into the potted plant”, which was abruptly banned for life by my mother when we had to go to the children’s hospital to have a raisin removed from TigerCat’s wee nostril with a pair of surgical tweezers.

We usually ended up injuring ourselves somehow whenever we were with my dad, which was due to some serious bad luck on his part. TigerCat and I were both spaz-tastic children, but somehow this mainly happened on our bi-weekly visits. Because, you know, my dad really needed another reason for my mother to hate him.

It was funny, though, because my dad was so paranoid and worrisome. He once took me to the emergency room because I got a splinter at the 1-2-3 Park. We were back in emerg a year later when TigerCat split her lip by falling off the merry-go-round at the ring-go-round park. And one time, when we had stopped a donut shop so that TigerCat could go to the bathroom, a dispenser of hand-soap fell on her face and approximately 2 pounds of pink goo exploded into her facial orifices. We went to emerg – again – to have her eyes flushed. To this day, she is wary of soap dispensers.

Yes, we had some fun times at our parks. And some strange times. I have some kind of vague recollection of TigerCat getting a kick out of peeing her pants on the slide at the 1-2-3 park, but I could have made that one up. I’m pretty sure she would pee on stuff to piss my dad off, though. It was the only way, other than swearing and extreme violence, that she knew how to express her anger. She takes after her older sister, who once, at age 3, took a dump in the sand behind a slide to express her anger at her parent’s seperation.

We’re poster-children for the effects of divorce.



ThePilot said...

You'd really think stories like this would make me want to marry you LESS. But no.

QueenB said...

The early childhood stories are my favourite, except for maybe the spinning class episodes - and yet, I only picture you and Tigercat looking the exact same with shorter legs - Strange.

Tigercat said...

I may have peed at the park. It would not have been out of character for me, really. I still have a bump on my lip where I fell on the merry-go-roung-thing-a-ma-jig (the blood ruined my poor fluorecent purple jacket!). The Peach left out some pretty important tales at the parks. The park is not only for summer fun, oh no, we went there in the winter to go sleding - once. The Peach and I were on our huge wooden sled going down a huge hill, into a ravine, with me in the front and the peach taking up the rear. I was stearing, makes sense for a 5 year old with ADHD to do, and the peach was in charge of breaking with her boot laden feet, makes sense for an 8 year old with bad knees. We were on our way to distaster. Went down and within 10 seconds we hit a tree, me with my right foot outstretched to cushion the impact. I sprained my ankle and it was another fun day at the childrens hospital emerg room. I am surprised my dad never had a heart attack.

asian cymbals said...

Poo is so cool. I've never pooed in public. I've pooed next to a tree while camping.

I was struck by how the poo splats on the ground and loses its poo-shape. Did you find the same when you pooed in the park?

Poo poo poo.

Anonymous said...

I've never been struck in any way by poo. AC, you are disgusting.