How I knew my grandmother did not love us.....
As I promised...here is the squirrel story. I will warn you that it is long. This is because I firmly believe that this story is only appreciated when you can actually picture yourself there. I need to really paint a picture here. It is long, and I love all of you who brave through this entire thing. It is funny...I promise.
My grandparents lived in Oakwood which was only about 20 minutes from where I grew up. Despite being very close distance wise, my brother and I did not see my grandparents very often. Grandpa owned the company that my father later took over. My grandmother has always been a social butterfly. She golfed, played cards, went bowling, swam, did church functions, organized dinner parties, and so on...she still does at the age of 80. When my parents would go out of state once a year, my grandparents would watch my brother and myself. Bobby is 3 years younger than me. My grandparents might have been "distant" in the fact that they did not see us often, but they were fun. They took us to amusement parks and rode all of the rides, took us to fairs, movies, bowling, let us drive golf carts around the Dayton Country Club, and made sure that we did not have a moment to really miss our parents. They were great about that.
They did feel that they had a responsiblity to push culture on us, though. They felt that we needed to attend the theater, see the Dayton Philharmonic play, go to art exhibits, and visit anything historical. This can be entertaining when you are older but not so much at the age of 8. Not only did we go to these plays, we were also forced to dress in our church clothes and go eat at some stuffy old-person restaurant afterward. We were expected to act appropriately...no fighting...no yelling...no hiding under the table and refusing to come up unless chocolate cake appeared on our plate...and no complaining. This began when I was 7 so my poor brother was 4. Every summer for around two months we were taken to at least one play every other week. Usually afterwards we went to the Dayton Country Club to eat. I will not describe this hell.
My mother enjoyed this time. She would happily drop us off at my grandparent's house and go off for "alone" time. I don't know what she did. Didn't really care. I just knew she was leaving us with my grandmother for an afternoon of complete boredom and etiquette. We complained...Mom did not care. Sometimes she did not even wait for the car to completely stop before throwing us out the door onto my grandma's lawn and speeding away.
It was a warm summer day when our lives changed. We had gone to a play at the Victorian Theater and eaten lunch at some adult restaurant. We arrived back at my grandmother's house to await the much anticipated pick-up by my mother. We entered through the back door and were greeted by complete hell. The back room was destroyed. There were torn books on the floor, pillows shredded on the couch, and drapes pulled off of the windows. The three of us stood dumbfounded in the doorway...speechless...scared...unsure what to do. Grandma told my brother and I to wait there. She stepped into the kitchen and grabbed a frying pan. I am not sure if it was fear that caused my brother and I to follow her or the great anticipation of watching my grandmother put the smack-down on something with a frying pan. Regardless of our reasons, we followed. The kitchen was in shambles. Again the curtains were on the floor. There were shredded boxes of cereal left out from that morning. You crunched through Cheerios as you made your way to the hallway. Grandma told us to stay back, and she peered into each room. The bathroom was fine. The den was another story. Whoever did this had taken special care to break everything including lamps. Grandma kept muttering about what were they looking for. I held my little brother's hand and we trekked on. We circled around and came to the living room. This room was actually in better shape with only pillows destroyed. Feathers everywhere. The dining room had broken lamps and curtains down on the floor. We arrived back into the back room. Grandma then informed us that we needed to check upstairs. Looking back, calling 911 might have been a wise idea. My grandmother, though, had every intention of finding the culprit and enforcing old lady punishment via the frying pan.
My brother began screaming. It was a high pitched scream that only a 4 year old can execute and not be accused of being a wuss. He was shaking as he pointed to the wall. I turned...slowly...to see the one curtain dancing. It was the only curtain that had survived the destruction. It was dancing as if it heard some music that we were too scared to hear. Grandma said nothing. I said nothing. Bobby continued to screech. Then the curtain parted and a 20 pound squirrel emerged...it is my damn story and the squirrel can be 20 pounds if I want it to be, damn it! It looked at us with cold, beady, little eyes. It stood up on its back feet. It opened its mouth. Did you know a squirrel shakes it's tail when it is pissed? I saw it.
I like to think that the combination of my brother's continuous wail compounded with this squirrel in attack position somehow flipped a switch in my grandmother's brain. I like to think that she lost all sanity. Truth be told, I think my grandmother remembered the age-old truth that you do not have to be the fastest...you just have to be faster than one other person. Grandma turned and ran. She ran and screamed. She left my little brother, who I will point out again was 4, and me, who was 7, and ran for the stairs. And she screamed. Despite a rumor that I do not love my brother and once left him behind while swimming in Cape Cod, I did save him that day. I grabbed his little hand and we ran. We ran as fast as those little legs could carry us. We hit the stairs and hauled ass. I would like to say we were actually outrunning a squirrel, but I really doubt that he was following us. I think we may have scared him to death as when we all broke into that death-shriek and ran. Or maybe he too was shocked that my grandmother left us behind.
At the top of the stairs was my grandparent's bedroom. My brother and I pounded on the door, but it was locked. We knew grandma was in there. We could hear her screaming. We turned right and dove into the bathroom. I would like to point out that IF the squirrel had been chasing us, we would have died at my grandparent's door. At this point I realized that we were not my grandmother's favorite grandchildren. We did make it to the bathroom, though. We hid in the shower with towels over our heads. We cried. We picture our mother arriving and saving us.
Seconds turned to minutes and minutes to what seemed like hours. We could hear hell breaking loose downstairs as the bathroom we were in was directly over the back room. The squirrel had completely lost it's mind. Then quiet. There came a knock on the door and grandmother's voice asking us if we were alright. My brother (and I remember this well) asked me if squirrels could talk and maybe this one was pretending to be grandma. Poor kid. Okay, I did entertain the notion for a few minutes before answering. Demon squirrels can do that stuff, you know. We removed the towels from our heads, came out of the shower, and opened the door. Grandma looked like she had been through a war. Makeup everywhere....tears all over her face...and she was still holding that frying pan. She said she had a plan. We slowly went down the stairs and out the front door. She left the door wide open. We went around to the back of the house where she seemed to remember that she was the adult AND our grandmother. She put us both in her car. Faces pressed against the window, we watched her go to the backdoor. She collected her thoughts, swung open the door, and ran back to the car. We all sat there...faces pressed against panes of glass...staring at that back door. Grandma kept rambling about evil rats. My mother arrived. Poor woman saw the doors wide open to the house and all three of us piled in the backseat of a car. She wisely stayed in her own car.
After 15 minutes a small creature (restate...20 pound creature) exited the house. It had cheeks full of cheerios which it was apparently taking back as a trophy. It stopped on the patio...stood up on its hindlegs...and sneered at us. I swear it did. It would have flipped us off...I am pretty sure it would have. Then it ran up the tree.
It took a long time to help grandma clean up her house. It is truly amazing what a squirrel can accomplish in 5 hours. Grandpa decided that the squirrel had fallen down the chimney and had spazed out. We told Mom everything. That did not stop her from allowing grandma to take us out every other week, but grandma had to pick us up at our house. We never had therapy. We probably needed it. Not because of the squirrel but because we realized that our grandmother did not really love us.
My grandparents lived in Oakwood which was only about 20 minutes from where I grew up. Despite being very close distance wise, my brother and I did not see my grandparents very often. Grandpa owned the company that my father later took over. My grandmother has always been a social butterfly. She golfed, played cards, went bowling, swam, did church functions, organized dinner parties, and so on...she still does at the age of 80. When my parents would go out of state once a year, my grandparents would watch my brother and myself. Bobby is 3 years younger than me. My grandparents might have been "distant" in the fact that they did not see us often, but they were fun. They took us to amusement parks and rode all of the rides, took us to fairs, movies, bowling, let us drive golf carts around the Dayton Country Club, and made sure that we did not have a moment to really miss our parents. They were great about that.
They did feel that they had a responsiblity to push culture on us, though. They felt that we needed to attend the theater, see the Dayton Philharmonic play, go to art exhibits, and visit anything historical. This can be entertaining when you are older but not so much at the age of 8. Not only did we go to these plays, we were also forced to dress in our church clothes and go eat at some stuffy old-person restaurant afterward. We were expected to act appropriately...no fighting...no yelling...no hiding under the table and refusing to come up unless chocolate cake appeared on our plate...and no complaining. This began when I was 7 so my poor brother was 4. Every summer for around two months we were taken to at least one play every other week. Usually afterwards we went to the Dayton Country Club to eat. I will not describe this hell.
My mother enjoyed this time. She would happily drop us off at my grandparent's house and go off for "alone" time. I don't know what she did. Didn't really care. I just knew she was leaving us with my grandmother for an afternoon of complete boredom and etiquette. We complained...Mom did not care. Sometimes she did not even wait for the car to completely stop before throwing us out the door onto my grandma's lawn and speeding away.
It was a warm summer day when our lives changed. We had gone to a play at the Victorian Theater and eaten lunch at some adult restaurant. We arrived back at my grandmother's house to await the much anticipated pick-up by my mother. We entered through the back door and were greeted by complete hell. The back room was destroyed. There were torn books on the floor, pillows shredded on the couch, and drapes pulled off of the windows. The three of us stood dumbfounded in the doorway...speechless...scared...unsure what to do. Grandma told my brother and I to wait there. She stepped into the kitchen and grabbed a frying pan. I am not sure if it was fear that caused my brother and I to follow her or the great anticipation of watching my grandmother put the smack-down on something with a frying pan. Regardless of our reasons, we followed. The kitchen was in shambles. Again the curtains were on the floor. There were shredded boxes of cereal left out from that morning. You crunched through Cheerios as you made your way to the hallway. Grandma told us to stay back, and she peered into each room. The bathroom was fine. The den was another story. Whoever did this had taken special care to break everything including lamps. Grandma kept muttering about what were they looking for. I held my little brother's hand and we trekked on. We circled around and came to the living room. This room was actually in better shape with only pillows destroyed. Feathers everywhere. The dining room had broken lamps and curtains down on the floor. We arrived back into the back room. Grandma then informed us that we needed to check upstairs. Looking back, calling 911 might have been a wise idea. My grandmother, though, had every intention of finding the culprit and enforcing old lady punishment via the frying pan.
My brother began screaming. It was a high pitched scream that only a 4 year old can execute and not be accused of being a wuss. He was shaking as he pointed to the wall. I turned...slowly...to see the one curtain dancing. It was the only curtain that had survived the destruction. It was dancing as if it heard some music that we were too scared to hear. Grandma said nothing. I said nothing. Bobby continued to screech. Then the curtain parted and a 20 pound squirrel emerged...it is my damn story and the squirrel can be 20 pounds if I want it to be, damn it! It looked at us with cold, beady, little eyes. It stood up on its back feet. It opened its mouth. Did you know a squirrel shakes it's tail when it is pissed? I saw it.
I like to think that the combination of my brother's continuous wail compounded with this squirrel in attack position somehow flipped a switch in my grandmother's brain. I like to think that she lost all sanity. Truth be told, I think my grandmother remembered the age-old truth that you do not have to be the fastest...you just have to be faster than one other person. Grandma turned and ran. She ran and screamed. She left my little brother, who I will point out again was 4, and me, who was 7, and ran for the stairs. And she screamed. Despite a rumor that I do not love my brother and once left him behind while swimming in Cape Cod, I did save him that day. I grabbed his little hand and we ran. We ran as fast as those little legs could carry us. We hit the stairs and hauled ass. I would like to say we were actually outrunning a squirrel, but I really doubt that he was following us. I think we may have scared him to death as when we all broke into that death-shriek and ran. Or maybe he too was shocked that my grandmother left us behind.
At the top of the stairs was my grandparent's bedroom. My brother and I pounded on the door, but it was locked. We knew grandma was in there. We could hear her screaming. We turned right and dove into the bathroom. I would like to point out that IF the squirrel had been chasing us, we would have died at my grandparent's door. At this point I realized that we were not my grandmother's favorite grandchildren. We did make it to the bathroom, though. We hid in the shower with towels over our heads. We cried. We picture our mother arriving and saving us.
Seconds turned to minutes and minutes to what seemed like hours. We could hear hell breaking loose downstairs as the bathroom we were in was directly over the back room. The squirrel had completely lost it's mind. Then quiet. There came a knock on the door and grandmother's voice asking us if we were alright. My brother (and I remember this well) asked me if squirrels could talk and maybe this one was pretending to be grandma. Poor kid. Okay, I did entertain the notion for a few minutes before answering. Demon squirrels can do that stuff, you know. We removed the towels from our heads, came out of the shower, and opened the door. Grandma looked like she had been through a war. Makeup everywhere....tears all over her face...and she was still holding that frying pan. She said she had a plan. We slowly went down the stairs and out the front door. She left the door wide open. We went around to the back of the house where she seemed to remember that she was the adult AND our grandmother. She put us both in her car. Faces pressed against the window, we watched her go to the backdoor. She collected her thoughts, swung open the door, and ran back to the car. We all sat there...faces pressed against panes of glass...staring at that back door. Grandma kept rambling about evil rats. My mother arrived. Poor woman saw the doors wide open to the house and all three of us piled in the backseat of a car. She wisely stayed in her own car.
After 15 minutes a small creature (restate...20 pound creature) exited the house. It had cheeks full of cheerios which it was apparently taking back as a trophy. It stopped on the patio...stood up on its hindlegs...and sneered at us. I swear it did. It would have flipped us off...I am pretty sure it would have. Then it ran up the tree.
It took a long time to help grandma clean up her house. It is truly amazing what a squirrel can accomplish in 5 hours. Grandpa decided that the squirrel had fallen down the chimney and had spazed out. We told Mom everything. That did not stop her from allowing grandma to take us out every other week, but grandma had to pick us up at our house. We never had therapy. We probably needed it. Not because of the squirrel but because we realized that our grandmother did not really love us.