I Got Tagged For A "Meme"

So, laKetch tagged Certainlia and Certainlia tagged me. Since there's NOTHING going on at the office today, I was able to indulge.

Apparently, the below set of fill-ins are called a "meme". The reason is obvious. Enjoy...

I can't believe I've never...

Until recently I'd probably have said "seen The Godfather." But The Missus and I finally took care of Parts I & II in a pasta-filled Saturday about a month ago.

I guess there are other important movies and books I haven't seen or read that could easily fill this spot, but that feels a little too pedestrian.

I would say that I can't believe I've never really been single or "dated", but I can believe it. I'm a serial monogamist who ended up meeting the future Missus within weeks of a called-off wedding engagement to a girl I met within weeks of being dumped by my high school sweetheart. Odd but true.

So, let's see.... AH. I got it. Over beers the other night, Neil was giving me the dope on his recent root canal and was astonished to hear that... I've never had a cavity. Or a filling. I guess I can't believe it either.

Everytime I think about...I still cringe

Ugh. So many of these. I guess one of the worst is the following...

Growing up, I was surrounded by older people. A retirement-age father, a live-in grandmother, elderly neighbors, much-older half-siblings, etc. On top of that, I was a smart kid. Between my intelligence and my circumstances, I assumed a level of maturity that I may or may not have actually achieved but that the adults around me were willing to accommodate and encourage. I never had to sit at the "kids table". I was included unapologetically in whatever social functions my parents engaged in. I was never told to butt out of an obviously adult conversation. And when my folks wanted to go see a movie - be it "The Blue Lagoon" or "Kramer vs. Kramer" - they took me along. I'm not saying this is right or wrong. I will say that I would probably be a little more discerning with my own kids, but in the end I don't think it did any permanent damage. The salient point of this is that from a very early age I considered myself an adult. And as such, I was occassionally prone to assuming an authority over my peers that I simply did not have.

Which brings us to...

The late 70's. Mary Moppett's Day Care. Omaha, Nebraska.

It's TV time. TV time is supposed to be for watching TV. That's what we were told to do. By Debbie. Debbie the day care worker. Debbie with the long, straight, brown hair parted down the middle and reaching to the small of her back. Debbie with the skin-tight Chic jeans and flowy white blouse that opened generously whenever she bent over. Debbie who might very well have been my first crush.

TV time is for watching TV. That's what we were told to do. By Debbie. An adult. And I took doing what adults told you to do seriously.

So, I'm sitting there. Indian style. Quietly sipping lukewarm chocolate milk. Being attentive. Being good.

And then I see him.

I don't remember his name, but I remember his knotted blonde curls and ceaselessly snot-streaked cheeks. I want to say his name was Dennis, but it probably wasn't. He was the booger kid. Every day care and elementary school had one.

Dennis had decided to get into the toy bin. He'd decided that TV time wasn't for him and that he'd prefer digging a Tonka truck out of the toy bin and plopping himself down on a pile of coats he'd knocked over. He'd decided that running the Tonka truck along the orange carpet while sucking his thumb and making loud "vrooooom" noises while everyone else was trying to watch "The Electric Company" was more up his alley. Even though we'd been told to watch TV and be quiet.

Something about this felt like injustice to me. As someone who always did what they were told. As an "Electric Company" fan. And as someone who - on many levels - considered himself an adult.

As this was going on, Debbie was in the adjoining room. She was not seeing this and therefore was not able to correct it. Which I just knew she would, if she were in the room. If she were seeing this. She would say that this injustice simply would not stand.

So, in Debbie's absence (and because I was the only available adult in the room) I took action.

I went over to Dennis.

I went over and I...

I spanked him.

I took the truck out of his hand, scolded him in front of the entire class, turned him over onto his belly and I...

I spanked him.

In the moment, it felt perfectly natural. It felt perfectly justified. I think on some level I even felt like it was expected of me.

I was wrong.

I remember sensing something approaching from behind. Quickly and with intent. Her energy reached me before she'd even crossed the threshold. I turned around in time to see Debbie rounding the corner from the next room, eyes wide, mouth agape, long hair flowing behind her as she careered toward me. She was fuming. Really fuming. Actually emitting fumes. I'd never seen anyone so angry. To this day, I vividly remember the expression on her face as she grabbed me by the arms and asked me what the hell I thought I was doing. What the hell was wrong with me. Scolding me in front of the entire class. Scolding me. Lightly swatting my butt as she sent me out of the room. Sending me crying to Pam. Pam who ran Mary Moppett's. Pam who made me sit in the corner of the empty room for the rest of the day.

My mother got the full story from the staff when she came to pick me up. The shock was enough that, apparently, I wet my pants. Which I never did. I have no memory of that part. According to her, she asked me on the way home if I wanted to talk about it. I said "no". She accepted that as my answer and we spent the rest of the ride in silence.

I cringed through the entire writing of this response.

I wish I'd...when I had the chance.

I wish I had investigated my severe TMJ when I had insurance.

I've never felt so out of place as when I...

walk through the doors of American Express every morning.

There was also the time I ended up at a UNO frat party. I might have felt more at home if I'd had a plaid oxford, a baseball cap, a koozy-wrapped PBR and said "Doood!" at a high-volume every minute or so... But I didn't.

...is my guiltiest pleasure.

"Rock of Love with Brett Michaels". Don't you dare judge me.

I hope...knows how grateful I am for...

My mother. For wiping out her retirement savings to pay for acting school so I wouldn't be saddled with student loans the rest of my life. And for always letting me just be who I am.

My brother. For trying to toughen me up when I was a kid. It didn't work then. But I think it has served me later in life.

My wife. For getting me.

Bono, Edge, Adam & Larry. For any of the countless live versions of "Where The Streets Have No Name" that I listen to before every audition.

God. For literally everything.

In my darkest hours I secretly blame...for my dysfunction.

Ma. Dad. Grandma. Distraction. Addiction. Everyone but myself.

...changed my life forever.

Watching U2 close the Amnesty International "Conspiracy of Hope" concert on MTV in the summer of 1986.

I'd be remiss not to also include:

* Punk rock. - 1986
* "Somewhere I have never travelled..." - 1992
*"Howl" - 1992
*Frank Miller's graphic novel series "The Dark Knight Returns" - 1985
*Having a local theatre group approach my folks about using our cafe to create "Diner Theatre" - 1983
*Watching "sex, lies & videotape" - 1993
*Performing "Sex, Drugs, Rock & Roll" - 1994
*Pubic hair - 1988
*Hiking the Grand Canyon for the first time - 1999
*Meeting The Missus - 1997
*Birth - 1973
*The iPod - 2004

Okay, Frantic Puppy and Big Mike... You're it.