So as I’ve mentioned before, I was home-schooled through 6th grade. This was back in the 80’s when hardly anybody was doing it and the people who were generally looked like this.We were not those people. I might have rocked some knickers, but never culottes. My mom was a nature-lover from San Francisco. Tall. Beautiful. Quiet. Talented in too many ways.My dad was…..hard to portray in one frame. The best way to describe him in a Redneck-Renaissance Man.
And a musician.
And a connoisseur of automatic weaponry. And always, always the comedian.So my brother and I were home-schooled by these people and in the beginning there were no issues. It was fun. We’d have school in the yard.But eventually the thrill faded.I entered teenage-hood and my parents popped out 4 more babies. They were little and I was big and my brother was a joust-head. I was suffering greatly.And so my parents made the gut-wrenching decision to let me go to real live school with real live people. I was a dramatic girl, which stemmed from a psychological quirk that I was soon to discover. It went like this….And then…….I barfed.And I barfed.
And I barfed and I barfed and I barfed. For an entire month before school started, this is the way every single morning went.Years later I came to recognize these episodes as panic attacks that lasted about 6 hours every morning. SUCH a bummer. But I learned to fight it by spending every ounce of my mental, physical, and emotional energy trying to avoid certain thoughts.But the most ridiculous things would set off the barf-alarm. Like my siblings watching cartoons. One particular commercial would come on for a Playdo set that allows you to make miniature food items. Like bananas. And cupcakes. And turkey legs.
The Love Bucket was my best friend and worst enemy. I guess you could say it my first introduction to the Frenemy.You think that’s bad???? That wasn’t the worst of it! Not anywhere close. Remember that story about George Bush choking on a pretzel and having a vasovagal reaction which caused him to pass out? Well, apparently I have a vasovagal reaction to throwing up. So every single time I barfed….
…I went completely unconscious. Most of the time I woke up with my head jammed between the toilet and the bathtub. It was a very confusing time for me.The worst scenario was when the Love Bucket was missing for some reason and I had to book it to the bathroom, knowing I might not make it.My parents were mystified.Anyway we finally found a wonderful Chinese doctor who told me I had a bad case of “wisso-wasso” and so that’s what we told people my 7th grade year. And my 8th grade year.And my 9th grade year.But by my 10th grade year, I was Iron Man.And to this day, I’d choose many many many many things over barfing.