May 9, 2014
10:08 p.m.

I can't believe it--my grandson is seven-years-old today. Seems like he was just born. Where does the time go? Dang! Enjoy that sundae. little buddy!

The Birthday Boy! Love him!

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I was watching a video blog earlier that featured a young lady sharing some embarrassing memories from her childhood and younger years, and it reminded me of a few things I would rather forget. But it's true that sometimes those are the funniest stories we tell from time to time. So I thought I might share a couple of my own, just for giggles.

We moved to the house where my parents still live in the spring of 1973. The basement was unfinished when we moved in, and over the next few months, my parents built a bedroom and a rec room in the basement. They carpeted the floor and the stairs. They put up paneling. For people who had no real carpentry skills prior to doing this work, they did a really good job. 

Using this as a reference, I can make an educated guess that what happened occurred in 1974--which means I was old enough to know better. Maybe I didn't pay attention when being taught the basic laws of physics; who knows? But it was a dumb thing that I did. Just...dumb. I can only be grateful that there were no witnesses--and yet, here I am, tattling on myself. Typical.

It was a cold and rainy night--nah, it was daytime. I'd gotten home from school and wanted to change clothes, so I headed for the basement. 

I bounced down the stairs--something I gave no thought to at the time and dearly wish I could do now--and about three steps from the bottom, I decided to jump to the floor below.

I made this decision without considering the fact that there was an overhang at the bottom of the stairway. I made my leap, hit my head on the overhang and collapsed in a heap at the foot of the stairs. Thump! Whump! That fast. Sheesh! 

Did I black out? To this day, I'm not sure. When I opened my eyes, I saw stars. I had previously heard of this phenomenon, but this was the first time I remember experiencing it.  My head was pounding, and I felt like I might vomit. I stretched out for a moment, hoping no one would come downstairs while I was still there. I was in no mood to offer an explanation. After a few minutes, I crawled around the corner and into my room. 

Now, anyone who knows me knows I'm a raving insomniac. This worked in my favor that night--if I had a concussion, it did not cause me to die in my sleep!

When I was in the 6th Grade, I had a wonderful teacher. Those who attended Roosevelt Elementary in the 1970s probably remember Mrs. Parker. She had a slow, southern drawl and was a really sweet woman. She made a particularly embarrassing moment a little more bearable for me--and gave my mother an anecdote she takes gleeful pleasure in re-telling at every opportunity.

Mrs. Parker was a hands-on teacher, and would write math problems on the chalkboard and have students come up to the front to the room to solve them. This was always a potentially embarrassing situation even on the best of days. However, on this particular day, I had more to worry about than solving a long-division problem. 

I heard whispering and giggling behind me. Jeez, was I taking that long to solve a simple division problem? What was so funny?

There I stood, chalk in hand, feeling unnerved because my classmates were clearly having a laugh at my expense, when suddenly I felt hands slip around my waist. Swiftly, those hands tied the arms of a sweater around my waist. Mrs. Parker's soft voice whispered in my ear: "Lets step out in the hall, Paula."

What the--?

Commanding the class to shut up and solve the problems on the board, Mrs. Parker pulled me quickly out into the hall. There, she explained my dilemma: the seam in the seat of my pants had split wide open!

I felt the blood drain out of my face. I  then felt it rush back into my face, triple the cost. My heart was pounding, and I knew that my face was red as a ripe tomato. "Oh, shit!" I muttered, then clapped a hand over my mouth. To my great relief, Mrs. Parker chose to ignore my outburst. 

"Wait here," she ordered, and stepped back into the classroom. Moments later she reappeared, and we walked to the office. "We'll call your mother to bring you another pair of pants," she explained as we made our way down the hall.

"I want to go home," I groaned.

"It's always a better idea to face things head on," Mrs. Parker told me. "You'll change and come back to class with your head held high."

(That was good advise; it still is. But, oh my God, it was hard!)

In the office she dialed my number. When my mother answered, she said, "Mrs Shablo, we have a bit of a problem here. It seems there was a little too much of Paula, and not quite enough of her pants."

Yes, she really said that. Just ask my mother. My mother loves this story!

I don't.

But I certainly loved Mrs. Parker. She was a shining example of what a good teacher should be. Even more, she was a shining example of what a good person should be. 

Okay, that's enough for one night. I do wonder, however, if any of my 6th Grade classmates remember this day. I hope not! 

So, it's your turn. Share an embarrassing childhood memory. I could use a couple of giggles myself!

Those are me thinks--good night!