I'm going to begin this story by admitting that I am, and always was the "poopy face culprit". I want you to understand that the term "poopy face" isn't as necessarily arbitrary as one might assume. My sister, Truly and I had a specific history with the subject of poop. A history that will haunt me for an eternity to come. It all began when I was just a lad at the mere age of 11. I had just begun to come to grips with the reoccurring issue of bowel movements.
The night we will begin with felt cold and to an extent morose from my recollection. I lived with three of four of my older sisters and my mother. The house was of such a small proportion that it had attributed the nickname of "cracker box house." Due to the disproportionate number of people to rooms in the house, it was only natural that the siblings were all subject to being roommates. Divided into groups of two, Truly and I were paired together, while the other pair consisted of the closer two in age (Anna and Dusty). Truly and I shared a bunk bed. I was given the bottom bed and it is in some ways part of the blame for the fiasco that would occur.
The winds blew so frightfully; it was as if God himself had challenged the invisible giant to a contest of strength. Alas, it was not this battle that awoke me that night. It was the everlasting battle between myself and the monster within my stomach. I don't know why Truly made the decision to sleep in my bed, but it was a decision she would soon regret. I awoke all of a sudden in an instant. The deed had been done even before I had even risen. I thought to speak out against the foul demon that had been lain, but was too fearful of the rage that would be unleashed by my sister. I crept away from my shame and headed down the hall, which seemed longer than usual, to my mother's bedroom.
"Mom," I whispered and she awoke. "What's wrong?" She spoke as if she knew what riddled my mind before my tribulation could be evoked. It was out my control and yet I grieved for what I had done. I explained as best I could to my mother, leaving out one very important detail, Truly. I washed as best I could in my humiliation. My mother stood in the doorway, almost tauntingly, when all of a sudden I heard it. The footsteps that would most definitely result in my own extinction. I paused my actions, as out of the darkness came the figure of my sister. She was rubbing her eyes unaware of my fault. She spoke, "There's something on my leg" in almost a yawn. There it was, my disease, my anguish, my poop. It sat on her leg like a dead bug caught in the path of a vehicle's windshield. My mother spotted it and from then on my destiny was sealed.
I tell you this story so that you may see the reasoning behind the term "poopy face." You see for the next 3-4 years I would be the center of every joke, the loser of every verbal battle, I had become a laughing stock. My age would often be exaggerated, "you were 13" they'd tell me as they stripped me of my pride and opinion all at once. "You pooped the bed" or "you pooped on your sister's leg" would always be dwindling comments made at any moment they found to be appropriate. I despised them for this, but nothing could be done.
Moving forward in time, we find Truly to be the age of roughly 19 and me a young 14. I cannot explain what the reason was that I chose to do this action. In all honesty I remember it being an accident. My sisters were inside and I believe I had just been yelled at for something, but there's no way of telling what had happened. I grabbed a rock up from the drive way and ever so lightly etched the words "poopy face" on the top of my sisters trunk. The vehicle was in no way particularly nice, but it was my sister's car. I saw what I had done and laughed to myself. What a funny guy I was. I dabbed a little spit on my finger and proceeded to wipe away the words, when all at once I realized, they weren't going away. I scrambled around trying to figure out how best to handle my mistake. After all possible solutions had been thwarted I convinced myself that it was way too thin of writing for anyone to ever notice and that I would never hear anything about it. Needless to say in the coming days (possibly even that day) Truly discovered my art work. She burst through the kitchen door in a fuss demanding the one responsible to come forward. I stood motionless and scared not saying a word.
The events that followed are vague in my memory, but I can only assume that Anna and Truly had already been in some form of an argument that day, which lead to Truly automatically blaming her for what had been done. Amid Anna and Truly's battle of words, the unthinkable happened. Anna (in her fury) looked at Truly and said "I didn't do it you poopy face!" That was it. She had sealed her own fate. Half laughing, Anna realized her mistake and quickly tried to explain that her use of the term was in no way indicative that she had done the mischief. She stood her ground, but was ultimately given credit for the misconduct. I'm not sure how long it was before I finally admitted to it, but it ended up costing me a bottle of turtle wax and 30 minutes of hard labor that I exerted to no avail. The car was branded and would be forever, and I would have but a taste of revenge for the suffering that I, to this day, must endure.
The night we will begin with felt cold and to an extent morose from my recollection. I lived with three of four of my older sisters and my mother. The house was of such a small proportion that it had attributed the nickname of "cracker box house." Due to the disproportionate number of people to rooms in the house, it was only natural that the siblings were all subject to being roommates. Divided into groups of two, Truly and I were paired together, while the other pair consisted of the closer two in age (Anna and Dusty). Truly and I shared a bunk bed. I was given the bottom bed and it is in some ways part of the blame for the fiasco that would occur.
The winds blew so frightfully; it was as if God himself had challenged the invisible giant to a contest of strength. Alas, it was not this battle that awoke me that night. It was the everlasting battle between myself and the monster within my stomach. I don't know why Truly made the decision to sleep in my bed, but it was a decision she would soon regret. I awoke all of a sudden in an instant. The deed had been done even before I had even risen. I thought to speak out against the foul demon that had been lain, but was too fearful of the rage that would be unleashed by my sister. I crept away from my shame and headed down the hall, which seemed longer than usual, to my mother's bedroom.
"Mom," I whispered and she awoke. "What's wrong?" She spoke as if she knew what riddled my mind before my tribulation could be evoked. It was out my control and yet I grieved for what I had done. I explained as best I could to my mother, leaving out one very important detail, Truly. I washed as best I could in my humiliation. My mother stood in the doorway, almost tauntingly, when all of a sudden I heard it. The footsteps that would most definitely result in my own extinction. I paused my actions, as out of the darkness came the figure of my sister. She was rubbing her eyes unaware of my fault. She spoke, "There's something on my leg" in almost a yawn. There it was, my disease, my anguish, my poop. It sat on her leg like a dead bug caught in the path of a vehicle's windshield. My mother spotted it and from then on my destiny was sealed.
I tell you this story so that you may see the reasoning behind the term "poopy face." You see for the next 3-4 years I would be the center of every joke, the loser of every verbal battle, I had become a laughing stock. My age would often be exaggerated, "you were 13" they'd tell me as they stripped me of my pride and opinion all at once. "You pooped the bed" or "you pooped on your sister's leg" would always be dwindling comments made at any moment they found to be appropriate. I despised them for this, but nothing could be done.
Moving forward in time, we find Truly to be the age of roughly 19 and me a young 14. I cannot explain what the reason was that I chose to do this action. In all honesty I remember it being an accident. My sisters were inside and I believe I had just been yelled at for something, but there's no way of telling what had happened. I grabbed a rock up from the drive way and ever so lightly etched the words "poopy face" on the top of my sisters trunk. The vehicle was in no way particularly nice, but it was my sister's car. I saw what I had done and laughed to myself. What a funny guy I was. I dabbed a little spit on my finger and proceeded to wipe away the words, when all at once I realized, they weren't going away. I scrambled around trying to figure out how best to handle my mistake. After all possible solutions had been thwarted I convinced myself that it was way too thin of writing for anyone to ever notice and that I would never hear anything about it. Needless to say in the coming days (possibly even that day) Truly discovered my art work. She burst through the kitchen door in a fuss demanding the one responsible to come forward. I stood motionless and scared not saying a word.
The events that followed are vague in my memory, but I can only assume that Anna and Truly had already been in some form of an argument that day, which lead to Truly automatically blaming her for what had been done. Amid Anna and Truly's battle of words, the unthinkable happened. Anna (in her fury) looked at Truly and said "I didn't do it you poopy face!" That was it. She had sealed her own fate. Half laughing, Anna realized her mistake and quickly tried to explain that her use of the term was in no way indicative that she had done the mischief. She stood her ground, but was ultimately given credit for the misconduct. I'm not sure how long it was before I finally admitted to it, but it ended up costing me a bottle of turtle wax and 30 minutes of hard labor that I exerted to no avail. The car was branded and would be forever, and I would have but a taste of revenge for the suffering that I, to this day, must endure.
Laughing so hard - I want to share it on Face - but will await your permission - poopy face.... LOL
ReplyDeleteSTILL LAUGHING :)
Mom, You can't share anything if you call it "Face"
ReplyDeleteagreed
ReplyDelete