My Grandpa was a Lion. And for the local festival, The Lions held a Bingo tent.
When my Grandpa was the bingo caller, my parents would play while my Brother and I would play on the lawn just outside the tent flaps.
This time we played beneath a moderately sized maple.
Bunches of seed pods, we called helicopters, hung from the branches.
We pulled them off and tossed them up in the air. Enthralled by their spinning descent.
About 20-30 feet away was a Boy Scout booth. This heavy-set, dowdy woman in a pink cotton dress ordered those nearby around.
A gentleman appeared alongside us.
He sternly reprimanded us.
This was no ordinary tree, no, this tree was federal property. Pulling off the helicopters was illegal.
We told him we didn't know and that we wouldn't do it anymore, and he left.
This time we only threw the ones we'd already pulled off of the tree.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!?"
A police officer, gun and all, screamed as he stood over us.
We froze instantly.
"Playing." We answered.
He jabbed a finger toward the Boy Scout booth. "She's asked you twice now to stop throwing these around her."
We stared at him.
"No, she didn't." We said.
"A man came and told us it was illegal to pick the helicopters off the tree, so we stopped and only played with the ones on the ground."
YOU ARE READING
What My Mother Forgot
Non-FictionBefore reading this, you should know... This is not a happy story. There is no happy ending. Simply put, this is a chronological account of the abuse, neglect, and bullying I suffered at the hands of loved ones from birth to 17 years old. It does no...
