January 07, 2007

Puke-covered school days

Ever since I was very young, I've been a vomiter. My mom would get us dressed to go out to a special dinner, and before we'd be out of the driveway, one-year-old me would yack all over my dainty little outfit. Prim and proper replaced by stinky and gross.

I remember train trips throwing up, sail boat throwing up, car ride throwing up, bus ride throwing up (discretely into my knit cap), flu throwing up, excitement throwing up, depression throwing up, you NAME it throwing up. Except airplanes. I never threw up on an airplane. Small blessings.

With all that load lightening, you'd think my body could at least reward me with 20 or 30 or several dozen fewer pounds. But no, I guess my overactive gag reflex must have triggered a starvation response in my metabolism. Yeah, that's it.

The one saving grace--not sure how I managed it either--was that I never threw up in school. It's amazing. All of those years, all of those ripe opportunities for retching in front of my friends, and somehow I never ralphed in class.

Or in the cafeteria, as Fin Slippy's boy did Friday, not from motion sickness or anxiety, no, nothing like that. Apparently he upchucked due to uncontrollable laughter and a pretty darn funny preschool lunch table joke.

I admire you, Henry. This is one fear you will never have to deal with. You faced it without even knowing it was there, too young for phobias about broken etiquette rules to paralyze you. You, amazing Henry, zapped the power from that common fear by self-assuredly tossing your cookies...er...grapes right where you sat, at the lunch table.

I wish I could have done that at your tender age. Think of how less stressed middle school would have been if that "what if" had been behind me.

For me, it was not to be. But for you--you made it through.

Respect, young man. Respect.


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