Toddler Myra was Politically Incorrect and Ultimately Uncaring of Everyone's Feelings Except her Own.

I hope all of you understand what a sacrifice this is for me to make. I am usually embarrassed to tears when mom breaks out the baby stories. Baby stories are almost as bad as baby videos. I honestly cannot remember if Boyfriend has seen any of those yet. If he has, then I mentally blocked it because it was so embarrassing for me.

Anyway, because I love you all so much, I have decided to let you be privy to two particular stories that I find pretty funny and barely anyone knows about.

Well, they will now. But whatever.

Anyway. With the help of my mother (since obviously I don't personally remember these stories), I will now begin the humiliation.

Let me begin with a little story that takes place in the GHETTO of San Francisco. More specifically, in a part of town mainly inhabited by those of Latino heritage. My family and I were out in California visiting family, and I was probably around 4 years old. We were trying to find our way back to my grandfather's house, and we boarded a bus. This particular bus was extremely crowded with a variety of people. The majority of them were members of a notorious Mexican gang that pretty much dominated the area we were in. There was also a lady with a live chicken in a paper bag sitting across from us, which toddler Myra apparently found vastly interesting, and my poor mom had to constantly tell me, "Myra, NO. We DON'T touch other people's chickens." All the while, she was also having to quiet my then six-year-old brother, who was shouting over and over, " I WANT TO DRIVE THE BUS!!! I WANT TO DRIVE THE BUS!!!"  And I started asking really loudly, "WHY DOES SHE HAVE A CHICKEN IN A BAG??"

She finally got us quieted and we were sitting like civilized children should.

It didn't last.

I started looking inquisitively around the bus, taking in the people that were riding with us. I stared especially hard at the Mexican gang members. I looked at them for a while, and then turned to my mom, and said in a really loud voice, "Do you know what I just noticed? Everyone on this bus is CHINESE except for us!!!!!" To my mother's horror, I turned back to the confused-looking gang members, and told them, "Did you know you were CHINESE?!?"

My mom snatched me onto her lap, looked apologetically at the men I had just offended, and said, "I'm so sorry. She's only four." To which one of their gang shrugged and replied,  "It's alright. We've been called worse things than Chinese before."

With the issue of Chinese people being on the bus resolved in my little four-year old mind, I took back up the issue of the chicken in the bag. I asked about it until we got off the bus, and my mom finally went, "She has a chicken in a bag because she's going to COOK it, dear." Four year old Myra proceeded to pitch an absolute fit, screaming, "WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME THAT ON THE BUS!!?? I WOULD HAVE SAVED IT!!!!!!" Mom said tiredly, "THAT'S why I didn't tell you on the bus."

I think this, coupled with my more recent post about trying to save a rabid raccoon, have led me to the conclusion that I should just give it up and become an animal rights activist.

My next story takes place in the backyard of my great-grandmother's house in Rockford, Alabama. I had just started talking, and the discovery of language had made me almost unbearable to be around, because I would NOT shutup. (Obviously, not much has changed.) My parents and grandparents were sitting on two benches in the backyard, and they had spread a blanket on the ground between then, setting me down on it to explore the grass around the edges of the comforter, and also apparently to eat bugs, one of my favorite childhood activities.

At some point, I crawled over to my great-grandmother and tugged on her pants leg. She lifted me up in her lap and  continued to talk to my parents. My mom saw me studiously looking at the skin on my grandmother's neck, which had become rather saggy, as is usual for the elderly. But infant Myra had never before come into contact with such a thing before. To my parent's horror, I reached up and lightly slapped her neck skin. And then I latched onto it and flapped it around a little. Then I looked at my mom and shouted (apparently toddler Myra shouted all the time and never used her inside voice" "WHY IS HER SKIN FALLING OFF?? IT LOOKS LIKE A TURKEY!!!" I then stopped, frowned, and a concerned and frightened look came over my face. " IS GRANDMA TURNING INTO A TURKEY!!??"

Mom says she doesn't remember much after that. She thinks she might have blocked it from her memory. But to me it seems like a perfectly legitimate question to ask. Especially if you are afraid your grandma might turn into a turkey at any moment.

Anyway, that's about all I think I can bear sharing with you right now. I might also like to add here that the first two words I ever spoke in my life were not "Mama" or "Da-Da". They were "money" and "candy", consecutively.

How appropriate.

Anyway, I hope you had a good laugh from these. Feel free to comment and tease. I wouldn't blame you.

I hope that God has mercy on me when I become a mother and gives me children exactly the opposite of myself.