Originally posted on Runinmystockings:
In the obscurity of the recesses of my mind there lies a tiny little memory. Today, I push away the cobwebs and attempt to relive that moment for the two people who have given life to my sister and me. In all the vast splendor of the fourth grade version of me, I would come to discover how our family came to be.
It was an assignment that I knew was coming. Having a sister one grade ahead of me in school, I knew there was no getting around it. It was the very first autobiography on my life that included all the excitement of chickenpox, favorite stuffed animals and the occasional skinned knee. However, the hardest part of the assignment was conducting an interview with my parents on how they met. The simple thought from my 10 year old brain was “Oh joy.”
My plan when I started out would be to go straight to the source. You know; the guy that asked the girl for her hand in marriage. This was going to be a cinch! I would be done in no time flat and I would be able to watch the ball game with my dad. Quickly, my cinch was dashed by a bombshell I didn’t see coming. The infamous words rang from the guy’s lips. “Go ask your mother.” Perhaps I shouldn’t have asked during the Indians season opener.