When I was a child I thought my elder sisters were the coolest people alive.
I have three sisters, two of them about twelve or thirteen years older than me. Thus, when I was nine years old, they would be about 21. And that was just a very cool age.
To add to the coolness, these sisters lived overseas. And as we all know, anywhere but here is a lot cooler… independently on where ‘here’ happens to be.
I must have been quite an annoyance. Every time my sisters called to speak to my mother I was standing next to her, leaping up and down like one of those annoying little furry dogs what have an annoying squeaky bark. Mind you, long distance phone calls in the 80’s were the only means of communication for people abroad. Aside from the fact that this kind of communication monopoly must have meant that long distance phone calls cost a smaller fortune, my sisters called to speak to my mother. Not to Elena, 9 years old.
But this was not relevant. I could not imagine anything more fun than sitting on the other end of the line, speaking to a very excited nine-year old who, in one single breath, was summarizing her entire nine year old life. Yeah, can’t get any better than that.
One fine day, one of my sisters decided to come for an extended visit. I don’t know if her intentions were to stay long, or it just became that way. But the fact of the matter is, she did end up staying for a few years.
I would boast in school that I had the coolest sister on the face of the earth, and that she looked like all the Hollywood starlets put together. I vaguely remember bringing friends over to see her. I even tried to marry her off to one of the teachers in school (My reasoning being: “hey, he is an adult, she is an adult. Great- they have stuff in common”!)
My other sister (yes, let us not forget that there were others!) who was only two years older than me, who had been the coolest person on the planet in my eldest sister’s absence did not take very warmly on this trespassing of territory. I remember quite a lot of fights between her and my eldest sister. They would often be about clothes, as I recall it. My 21 year old itty-bitty sister would namely fit into my 11 year old sisters skirts (crazy 80’s fashion) making these be attractive goods in the family residence.
What really sent me over the edge was one day when my 21 year old sister was in the living room, MTV at full blast. I can still remember what she was wearing: there was this white t-shirt with cartoons on it, tucked in to this itty-bitty jeans skirt (property of my other sister).
A short note on this jeans skirt.
It was, by far, the most attractive garment of the house. It got sent around more than chain mail! No wonder, imagine this marvel of 80’s fashion:
Remember stone washed jeans? Well, it was that same material, only it had a patch of neon green cloth sown in to the front of it. It was one of those bell skirts, product of the Lambada era (remember Lambada?). To top it off, la piece de resistance was this broad neon pink elastic on the waist. The 80’s at their prime!
Back to the story. So there we were, my sister with MTV full blast in the living room, me staring at her in wonder. All of a sudden, there it was. A Pearl Jam video on the TV. My sister leaped up from the sofa, excitement in her eyes. She turned towards me…
And then, she uttered the sentence that forever would change my life.
Staring at the lead singer she dreamingly said:
-“Oh! He is so sexy, I could have his babies!”
I almost fell of my chair. Why, I couldn’t really believe it. Say what? Have his babies?
A whole new world had opened up to me. A world where you could say stuff like this and they could sound so remarkably cool. You see, it was not so much the message in itself. It was more the way she said it. If, for instance, my mother would say something similar, it wouldn’t sound cool at all.
From then on, I carried this with me. For a long time, I have been waiting for the right time to deliver it. To pass the torch. Share this wealth.
So far, I haven’t had the opportunity to. I guess the right moment to deliver it never really has come. Or maybe it just doesn’t really sound that cool to me anymore.
But then again, what do I know?
I suppose I just have never really been very cool.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Monday, May 10, 2010
The Helmet
Acts of kindness are always remembered by their beneficiaries, how big or small they may be.
Before I tell you about this one, particular incident, it is better that I explain the background as to why this act of kindness took place at all.
Anticipating the mandatory annual spring field trip, it was decided that all ten year olds in school would go on a biking field trip. It was a pure stroke of genius from the faculty’s side. Not only would it be saving money on transport, as there was no need to rent buses for the purpose; It would also be a lot easier to keep track of disobedient children (such as me, who had wondered off and fallen into a pit of nettles the year before) if they were mounted on their bikes.
Someone employed at that school must have gotten a pretty groovy bonus that year.
Every kid in my year was sent home later that week with an information letter to the parents about the event. All children had to be equipped with field trip lunches (which in my case meant mayo-drenched sandwiches made from white bread, American style), a change of clothes (for hot weather, cold weather, rainy weather, hail storms…. A Swedish spring day can be very unpredictable), a bike (all kids in suburbs have one)… and…
A helmet.
“Well”, said my mother as she read the letter later that night. “Good thing you are all set. I will just have to buy food to make your lunch”.
Oh, dear.
Earlier that year, my mother had been at this enormous outlet type store just outside our town. I had been bugging her to buy me a helmet, just like the ones the other girls had. I had specified it had to be pink, and made of that plastic foam that helmets were made of back them. Everyone had one, and I wanted one too!
So there was my mother, shopping away at the outlet when she saw this sale box, full of helmets (pink) at less than half the price of the helmet I had showed her at the store.
Bargain!
She came home from the outlet, very excited, because she had bought me exactly what I wanted. Or so she thought.
For in her hand she had the ugliest looking helmet I had ever seen. Besides the fact that it said *SCHWOOSH” on the side of it in giant yellow letters, it was completely square. Remember how helmets back then sort of followed the curves of your head? Well this one didn’t, unless you happened to be Frankenstein’s monster. Completely square. To top it off, it was several sizes too big for my little head. I looked at her in disappointment. This was the best she could do?!
To this day, my mother says that she could never win when it came to presents for us. We are just never pleased. Us daughters have come to terms with the fact that she never could see the difference between things. Mainly because it really doesn’t matter anymore.
It sure did back then, though.
Nevertheless, in an attempt to please my mother, I wore the helmet to bike around the neighborhood. I hadn’t gone more than a few blocks when the first children started laughing and pointing at me. That did it. I tossed that silly thing in a dark corner of the garden shed and forgot all about it.
Nobody had given it a single thought ever since. But then came the field trip.
For weeks I was in agony about what yet to come. A field trip from hell. Every man and his dog were going to laugh at that stupid outlet helmet. I wanted to drop off the face of the earth.
One day, as I was putting on my jacket after a day at school, I felt a pair of eyes in my neck. I spun around to find a girl in my class contemplating me. As I was still fairly new to this class, I had not talked much to her before. And there she was, looking at me.
-“is something the matter?” she asked
Now, I didn’t really know this girl at the time, but for some reason it all came bursting out. Weeks of despair. I found myself telling her all about the square helmet, my fear of being laughed at, and the incomprehension of my mother.
“Don’t worry” the girl said, after listening to my story. “I have a spare helmet at home you can have”.
And so we walked off to her house, to find that her spare helmet was exactly the sort of helmet I always had wanted. Pink, curvy shaped. I was in heaven.
“You can have it” she said. “It’s yours to keep”.
The field trip did not seem so bad anymore. I had found a new friend. I have never forgotten this one act of selfless kindness, very unusual for a ten year old.
She saved my field trip. This incident has stuck with me for eighteen years.
Thanks for the helmet, friend. You know who you are.
Before I tell you about this one, particular incident, it is better that I explain the background as to why this act of kindness took place at all.
Anticipating the mandatory annual spring field trip, it was decided that all ten year olds in school would go on a biking field trip. It was a pure stroke of genius from the faculty’s side. Not only would it be saving money on transport, as there was no need to rent buses for the purpose; It would also be a lot easier to keep track of disobedient children (such as me, who had wondered off and fallen into a pit of nettles the year before) if they were mounted on their bikes.
Someone employed at that school must have gotten a pretty groovy bonus that year.
Every kid in my year was sent home later that week with an information letter to the parents about the event. All children had to be equipped with field trip lunches (which in my case meant mayo-drenched sandwiches made from white bread, American style), a change of clothes (for hot weather, cold weather, rainy weather, hail storms…. A Swedish spring day can be very unpredictable), a bike (all kids in suburbs have one)… and…
A helmet.
“Well”, said my mother as she read the letter later that night. “Good thing you are all set. I will just have to buy food to make your lunch”.
Oh, dear.
Earlier that year, my mother had been at this enormous outlet type store just outside our town. I had been bugging her to buy me a helmet, just like the ones the other girls had. I had specified it had to be pink, and made of that plastic foam that helmets were made of back them. Everyone had one, and I wanted one too!
So there was my mother, shopping away at the outlet when she saw this sale box, full of helmets (pink) at less than half the price of the helmet I had showed her at the store.
Bargain!
She came home from the outlet, very excited, because she had bought me exactly what I wanted. Or so she thought.
For in her hand she had the ugliest looking helmet I had ever seen. Besides the fact that it said *SCHWOOSH” on the side of it in giant yellow letters, it was completely square. Remember how helmets back then sort of followed the curves of your head? Well this one didn’t, unless you happened to be Frankenstein’s monster. Completely square. To top it off, it was several sizes too big for my little head. I looked at her in disappointment. This was the best she could do?!
To this day, my mother says that she could never win when it came to presents for us. We are just never pleased. Us daughters have come to terms with the fact that she never could see the difference between things. Mainly because it really doesn’t matter anymore.
It sure did back then, though.
Nevertheless, in an attempt to please my mother, I wore the helmet to bike around the neighborhood. I hadn’t gone more than a few blocks when the first children started laughing and pointing at me. That did it. I tossed that silly thing in a dark corner of the garden shed and forgot all about it.
Nobody had given it a single thought ever since. But then came the field trip.
For weeks I was in agony about what yet to come. A field trip from hell. Every man and his dog were going to laugh at that stupid outlet helmet. I wanted to drop off the face of the earth.
One day, as I was putting on my jacket after a day at school, I felt a pair of eyes in my neck. I spun around to find a girl in my class contemplating me. As I was still fairly new to this class, I had not talked much to her before. And there she was, looking at me.
-“is something the matter?” she asked
Now, I didn’t really know this girl at the time, but for some reason it all came bursting out. Weeks of despair. I found myself telling her all about the square helmet, my fear of being laughed at, and the incomprehension of my mother.
“Don’t worry” the girl said, after listening to my story. “I have a spare helmet at home you can have”.
And so we walked off to her house, to find that her spare helmet was exactly the sort of helmet I always had wanted. Pink, curvy shaped. I was in heaven.
“You can have it” she said. “It’s yours to keep”.
The field trip did not seem so bad anymore. I had found a new friend. I have never forgotten this one act of selfless kindness, very unusual for a ten year old.
She saved my field trip. This incident has stuck with me for eighteen years.
Thanks for the helmet, friend. You know who you are.
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