I Remember

Occasionally tidbits of my early childhood will pop into my mind. When I say early, I mean very early. So early, that most experts would say that it is impossible. Anyway there is this one memory that has crept up on me as of late. I wrote it down and made a note to ask my parents about it. It was in the house at Forest Hills which would have made me no older than three years old. I storm into my parent’s bedroom. They both are there. I guess I was upset because I start rattling off all the cusswords that I know. It probably was quite a few because I had four older brothers, lots of older cousins, and parents who didn’t hold back on their language. The memory ends with the last curse.
On the phone with my mother tonight I asked her if she remembered. She did. She explained that I was mad which she said I was most of the time. She said I came into their room cursing. She said it was virtually impossible for her and my dad to keep from laughing. I asked her what they did about it and she said nothing. But after I got off the phone with her I remember being talked to about it.
How funny and shocking it must have been to see your three year old son curse you out. The life of a parent.