|
A fond memory is something that shouldn’t be looked
over. A stretch in the morning, my mother busy making coffee, my
father rushing to get to work in a low paying dead-end job, I sat
and listened to the crackle of the rabbit ears as my older brother
tweaked them ever so slightly just enough to grab the attention
of a certain channel 7. Lets all admit it, and if you’re in
my generation, you know exactly what I’m talking about.
Striking a chord deep in my heart for an adventure beyond my pseudo-socialist
parents, the ennui of first grade, the tender bruises on my knee,
here was an accessible escape from reality, a nomenclature of sorts
between myself and the peers I had that were wise enough to admit
their weaknesses instead of spending |
|