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a memory.

November 29, 2009

pretty much from being an infant, i was in daycare.  both of my parents worked, my grandparents and great grandparents worked, so there was no where else for me to go but a babysitter.

as i got older, around age 2, i went to a babysitter named margie.  when my mom brought me home at night and put me in the tub, she’d notice that i had an obscene amount of sand in my hair and clothes.  she couldn’t figure out what i was doing, so she asked margie to keep an eye on me one day.

that morning when us kids were let out into the backyard to play, margie watched me carefully.  i walked over to the sand box by myself, sat in the middle, filled up a pale of sand and dumped it right over my head.  margie told my mom this and they both laughed.

in those same toddler years, everytime my mom came to pick me up from margie’s i would throw myself to the ground kicking and screaming.  mom always said that was my way of punishing her for leaving me all day.  mom both picked me up and dropped me off because my dad worked swing shifts, but after the few times that my dad had to take me in, margie begged my mom not to have him drop me off anymore because i flipped out.  i cried and screamed and was inconsolable for hours because i wanted my daddy.

and dad laughed.

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