Food Nazis: Kelli’s perspective

Growing up, eating was almost frowned upon for my brothers and me. When we were allowed to eat, the food wasn't very appetizing.

For breakfast we were allowed to have either cereal or a Pop Tart. The cereal never contained sugar. We were allowed Corn Flakes, not Frosted Flakes. Mini Wheats, not Frosted Mini Wheats. We had every flavor of Chex and the most disgusting of all, Kix. When we were allowed a Pop Tart, which was only on the weekends, they were the unfrosted kind.

Lunch at our house was just as bad. My mother made us bologna and ketchup sandwiches. She made smiley faces in the ketchup as if it would make bologna taste good. It didn't.

Dinner wasn't always terrible, but my mother did make quite a few dishes that were not very good. She made Grub a lot. It consisted of scrambled hamburger and baked beans. The state should have removed us from the home for that one.

Even drinks in our house were controlled.

At breakfast we were told to "just drink the rest of the milk in your cereal.” 

At lunch we were allowed watered down Kool-Aid.

Dinner was always milk. Never chocolate or coffee milk. Just plain, white milk.

In between meals we could only have "ice water". Ice water was just tap water in an empty milk jug that my parents kept in the fridge. In the summer we were not allowed to go indoors to get a drink. We were told to "drink from the hose".

Snacks were allowed, which sounds good in theory until you know the nature of the snacks. Our snacks were always timed. We were allowed to have a piece of fruit everyday at exactly 3:00 PM.

After dinner we were allowed two generic Oreos.

We were also allowed a bedtime snack two nights a week. It was always served at 8:00 PM exactly and it was always unsalted peanuts. What kid really wants unsalted peanuts?

All this sounds bad but my parent's made it worse. When I opened the fridge to get my refreshing "ice water" I would see their two-liter bottle of Coke.

When I opened the fridge to get my plum at 3:00 PM I would see my mother’s Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups.

When we were eating our unsalted peanuts, all we could hear was their popcorn popping in the popper.

Hypocrites.

One more thing:

Chewing or possessing gum by the children was a punishable offense.

My parents were food Nazis. I am much more lenient with my own children.

Poltergeists and house fires: Matt’s perspective

It shouldn’t be surprising that Kelli’s two most terrifying moments from her childhood are moments that I remember well, and both scared the hell out of me, too.

The incident involving Poltergeist is almost too good to believe.

First, the reason why my parents felt that Poltergeist was a suitable Saturday night movie for children ages 6-10 is beyond me. But it was also not the first time that my parents’ ability to discern appropriate content for small children came into question.

Before the ripe old age of ten, I was also permitted to watch The Exorcist, The Omen, Invasion of the Body Snatchers, The Amityville Horror, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre and Jaws. Thankfully, I was never been as frightened by horror films as my siblings were, though The Exorcist admittedly scared the hell out of me.

Second, the fact that our dog just happened to fall asleep in our closet on the night we watched that particular film, and that it also happened to be the night that we left the light on in the closet seems too impossibly coincidental to believe. The whole damn movie is about ghosts in a closet and the light emerging from within. There was no better way to terrify us as young children than to have that closet door open seemingly by itself after we had gone to bed.

A living, breathing Tyrannosaurus Rex wouldn’t have been as frightening. 

And as far as I can remember, it was the one and only time that our dog made his bed in our closet, and it was definitely the only time that he crept out of the closet in the middle of the night by pushing the door open.

I had many terrifying moments in my childhood, many more than Kelli ever experienced, but the image of that closet door slowly opening and the light spilling into our bedroom is one of the most terrifying moments of my life.

I also remember the issue regarding Kelli’s bedroom window well, though I remember it slightly differently. While I am sure that I tormented Kelli about the inherent dangers of her room in the event of a fire, I was actually just as frightened about the situation as my sister and had begged my parents on more than one occasion to install a rope ladder in case she ever needed to escape. I also remember telling Kelli many times before bed that if there was a fire and she could not get out her bedroom door, she must jump regardless of her fear. “Two broken legs is better than being dead,” I had told her many, many times.

I’m sure that none of this served to inspire confidence in my little sister, but it was all I could do to rest peacefully every night.

And it’s not like my warnings weren’t entirely unjustified.

When I was about twelve years old, our chimney caught fire, and after several motorists stopped to warn my parents of the danger (which they ignored), the fire department was finally called by a neighbor and I was awakened from sleep by a firefighter. Though the fire remain restricted to the chimney, it could have easily been a lot worse had our neighbor not seen the problem and called 911.

Being awakened from sleep by a firefighter also rates on my list of most terrifying moments from childhood.

I wonder what Kelli remembers from that night.

Poltergeists and house fires: Kelli’s perspective

I was terrified twice while growing up. My two brothers enjoyed my fear. Even if they weren't the direct cause of my fear, they found it hilarious when I walked in their room with my pillow and my Strawberry Shortcake sleeping bag, begging to sleep on their floor.

The first time I was terrified was not my brothers' fault but our parent’s alone. At a very young age, (younger than ten at least), they allowed us to watch the horror movie Poltergeist.

Not a good movie for a child.

I was so terrified that I begged Matt and Jeremy to let me sleep on their floor. After much pleading on my part and a little teasing on their part, they allowed it. Just as we were beginning to fall asleep, me with one eye opened, the closet door began opening slowly and light poured out into the room, just like in the movie. The three of us ran screaming towards the door only to discover that the closet light had been left on and our dog, Pac-Man, had fallen asleep in the closet. The door hadn’t been clicked shut, so when he awoke, he nudged the door open with this muzzle.

Even knowing that it hadn’t been a ghost, I slept on their floor for a week.

My second traumatic experience was cleverly and evilly planned by my brothers. Outside of Matt and Jeremy's bedroom window was the garage roof. In an emergency, they could escape the room with a very short jump onto the roof and then a short jump to the ground.

My bedroom, however, was a clear two story drop.

One night Matt brought this to my attention, and Jeremy agreed with his estimation. They then took the time to explain all the worst case scenarios to me.

Fire. Robbery. More fire.

That night I snuck in their room with the infamous sleeping bag after they were fast asleep. After a few nights of sneaking in I got caught. Matt asked why I was scared. I was too embarrassed to tell him why so I spelled the word “f-i-r-e.”

I thought I spelled it wrong because he didn’t respond.

I thought he didn’t understand  what I meant.

Now that I look back I think the reason for his silence was his guilt. My brothers loved to scare me, but after a week of me on their floor, Matt may have realized he had taken things a bit too far.

Boy Scout Brownies: Matt’s perspective

I vaguely recall the brownie incident that Kelli describes in her post. In truth, I remember the Great Brownie Battle of Circa 1985 quite well, but I did not recall that the chocolaty ammunition had been provided by me.

Cooking has never been my thing. I lack attention to detail.

I had also forgotten that my sisters made frequent appearances at our Boy Scout meetings.

I probably wanted to forget that fact with every fiber of my teenage being.

Though they weren’t there every week, it was awkward to have your sisters stuffed in the corner while you learned to tie knots and  played capture the flag in the pitch dark. In all my years in Scouting, my sisters were the only girls who ever attended our meetings, and they were also the only non-Scout siblings to be left behind at a meeting.

Of course, this isn’t surprising given the pathetic parenting prowess of our parents. I was babysitting my four younger brothers and sisters until 3:00 AM on most Saturday nights at the ripe old age of nine, so leaving my sisters behind at the Boy Scout meeting (and often telling us to find a ride home) represented an improvement in the level of childcare that we typically received. 

Boy Scout Brownies: Kelli’s perspective

My daughter, Alexia, asked me the other night if she could make brownies all by herself with no help from me. It reminded me of Matt's first and hopefully only attempt at making brownies.

He was in Boy Scouts and offered to make brownies for the weekly Friday night meeting. Our mother offered to make them, but like my daughter, he insisted on doing it without any help. I sat in the kitchen and watched him mix the batter and fill the brownie pan. He even let me lick the beaters. He did everything right except for one thing.

He did not set a timer.

After the brownies were in the oven for what felt like forever, he remembered to take them out of the oven. He did not allow them to cool. He cut them immediately. I could tell that he was struggling to cut them but he wasn't admitting it. He put them right in a container and set them aside for the meeting.

I am a girl, but for some reason my parents made me attend the meetings with my brothers. Looking back it's probably because the meetings were on Friday nights and it gave them a few child free hours.

We got to the meeting, and I sat in the corner, observing with my step-sister. After the meeting it was time for refreshments. One of the Scouts attempted to bite into a brownie. He could not bite into it. He took the brownie and threw it at the wall. It did not break. All the other Scouts grabbed a brownie and started throwing them at the walls and at each other. My brother's homemade refreshment turned into weapons for recreation.

I really hope my brother hasn't attempted to make brownies.

At least my daughter’s were edible.