Category Archives: Memories No Longer Repressed

The Joy of Fessing Up

Posted on February 22, 2012 | 37 Comments

THE PREMISE

Last week, I had some fun playing a blogging version of Two Truths and a Lie. If you haven’t read that post, don’t bother. But please go and read the comments.

THE COMMENTS

Many of my readers participated and revealed that they have:

  • met Prince Charles
  • had their house burn down
  • dined with European presidents
  • chatted with Michael Jackson
  • danced on a table with Michael J. Fox
  • been in a French film
  • rode the school bus daily with a now-Steelers player
  • punched students and crushes in the face
  • met John Waters
  • led a student revolution in sixth grade
  • smoked weed out of an apple
  • had cocktails with a KGB general

THE REALITY

So in conclusion, my life is a bore.

But since you’re still reading, I’ll go on.

THE INVITATION

Dear Mom: Please keep reading. I’ve noted that you didn’t score 100%.

THE REVEAL

  1. Teen Years
    1. I home-dyed my hair red, but it turned burnt orange. LIE. I did dye my hair red at 18, but it looked burnt red.
    2. I used a coat hanger to zip up my tight jeans. TRUE. They were Jordache jeans. It was a Junior High dance. I had basketball legs. And womanly hips.
    3. I lined up overnight to get John Cougar Mellencamp tickets. TRUE. I was born in a small town.
  2. Meeting Pro Athletes 
    1. I waltzed with a professional football player. TRUE. Darryl Patterson. He’s an American who played on numerous Canadian Football League (CFL) teams. He was married. I wasn’t. Before you think I was up to no good, I will fess up that we were in the same wedding party. CFLer Frank Robinson was in it too.
    2. I babysat for a professional hockey player. TRUE. Doug Smail, who played for the Winnipeg Jets 1.0, was my cousin’s cousin. 
    3. I dated a Team Canada volleyball player. LIE. I did date a 6’8″ college volleyball player briefly, but I dumped him when he got cut from Team Canada. Kidding. I just stopped calling.
  3. Parenting Lows
    1. I sobbed right after parented music classes. TRUE. William had seriously defied me. Numerous times. I couldn’t cope. When I can’t cope, I cry.
    2. I drank alcohol right after parented music classes. LIE. The lesson is at 9:30 a.m. on a Saturday morning.
    3. I swore right after parented music classes. TRUE. I was recounting the music lesson horror to my husband, mid-tears. 

THE POSTAMBLE

Thanks for the fun. Let’s play again, shall we?

THE POST POSTAMBLE

Any suggestions of other games we can adapt to blogging?
I was going to suggest Twister…

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Posted in Memories No Longer Repressed, Mischief

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Two Truths and a Lie: The Blogging Version

Posted on February 17, 2012 | 118 Comments

One of my favourite party games is Two Truths and a Lie. This could explain why I’m never invited to A-list parties, or even F-list ones.

If you’re not familiar with Two Truths and a Lie, it works like this. One person offers three statements about herself, one of which is false. The other players then guess which statement they believe is a lie.

Two Truths and a Lie always results in bizarre stories being shared, and it pretty much always goes sideways, drifting into PG-13 or R territory.

I’ll try to polish my halo for this post, though.

Your job is to see if you can guess which one is the lie in each sequence below.

Here we go:

  1. Teen Years
    1. I home-dyed my hair red, but it turned burnt orange.
    2. I used a coat hanger to zip up my tight jeans.
    3. I lined up overnight to get John Cougar Mellencamp tickets.
  2. Meeting Pro Athletes
    1. I waltzed with a professional football player.
    2. I babysat for a professional hockey player.
    3. I dated a Team Canada volleyball player.
  3. Parenting Lows
    1. I sobbed right after parented music classes.
    2. I drank alcohol right after parented music classes.
    3. I swore right after parented music classes.

In the comments, guess the lies.
Also, if you feel so inclined, please leave your own set of three statements, and I (and maybe other readers) will try to guess which one is the lie.

I’ll share the answers (i.e. my lies) next post.

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Posted in Memories No Longer Repressed, Mischief

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On Being a Farm Girl and a Younger Sister

Posted on July 25, 2011 | 41 Comments

The Last Harvest: straight combining wheat

Autumn 1996

I walk onto my apartment’s balcony holding the cordless phone to my ear. “So,” I tell my brother who’s taking his PhD in Agriculture in Manitoba, “I’ve signed up to take a six-week self defense workshop.”

“That’s cool,” he says. “Any particular reason?”

“No, not really. My friend wants to take it, and the self-defense is judo based, which sounds interesting.” I shift the phone to my other ear. “It also includes assertiveness training lessons.”

“It what?” he asks.

“Includes assertiveness training. Forty-five minutes of self defense and another forty-five of a workshop. About empowerment, I think.”

My brother starts laughing. In my family, we find humour everywhere. It can be annoying.

“You know, it’s not that funny.”

“It is,” he says. “I give you two weeks until you’re running the class.”

Winter 1996

I adjust my gi and tighten my white belt. Having enjoyed the self defense lessons, I’ve enrolled in an adult judo class. Our belt colours span the rainbow, all brighter and better than my beginning hue.

Halfway through class, after practicing numerous holds and releases, we ground fight in partners. I hold back, unaware both of my strength and where my limbs are. Eventually, our instructor, an nth degree blackbelt who competed for Canada at the Olympics, invites me to ground fight.

I’m no longer hesitant; I can’t hurt him.

I wriggle out of holds, attack, writhe, wrestle.

I sweat. Grunt.

I’m not pretty.

And I don’t care.

Later, seven of us are out for a drink.

“Leanne,” the instructor calls across the table, “I’ll bet this round that you have a big brother.”

“Yup,” I answer, taking a sip of my beer. “A 6’4″ one. How’d you know?”

“Did you used to wrestle with him?”

“All the time. If he pinned me, he’d tickle me until I begged for mercy or cried. I usually lost,” I say. “He’s 8 years older.”

“I knew it,” he says. “You can’t teach ground fighting instinct like that.”

Weeks later, at another post-sweat pub session, I speak about missing the next class because I’m going back to the farm for an extended Christmas vacation.

“You grew up on a farm?” my instructor asks.

“I did.”

“Did you work on it?

“Oh ya,” I say, raising my eyebrows. “No animals, though. Just grain.”

The instructor smiles. “That explains it.”

“Explains what?” I ask.

“You.”

It isn’t until years later, when I’ve been away from the farm long enough, that I realize this is a compliment.

The farm and an older brother: two formative influences.

Photo credit: Tim Reisdorf

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What events, settings, or people have formed who you are?

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Posted in Memories No Longer Repressed, Un-Ironic Moments

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