A bite-size piece of memoir for Mother’s Day

Dad served on the town recreation board for years when I was a kid. I was thrilled. Was I already civic minded? Was I proud of him being involved in community volunteer service? No, these were not the reasons.

Once a month, the “rec board” gathered for a supper meeting in town hall. Lucky for me, the perks of being an only child kicked in.

Mom took me out for Chinese food at the “Golden Dragon” every time Dad was attending the meeting. The front of the restaurant was a regular small-town cafe, but passing through the beaded curtain at the back, you entered the enchanting dining room. Dim light, Chinese lanterns, white fabric table cloths, stemmed water glasses, leather-bound menus, and wooden chopsticks waited. Mom and I regularly had arguments at home but once a month, over wonton soup, egg rolls, and Cantonese chow mein, we called a truce.

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P.S. Happy Mother’s Day Mom! This one’s for you:

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“Bite-size memoir” is a chunk of memoir just 150 words long, no more and no less.

It was first initiated several years ago by Lisa Reiter on her blog: https://sharingthestoryblog.wordpress.com/

If you enjoy writing but haven’t the time to get into a bigger project, or you are just starting to write, give it a whirl.

150 words may not seem like much, but have another read of the memoir above. Think about how much you learned about me, and my family,
in one little “bite”.

Once in a Lifetime!

Four 14 year old girls dropped off on their own with an old green canvas tent at a campground thirty miles from home for the weekend. What could possibly go wrong?

Apparently many things. According to my parents who absolutely forbade this camping excursion to happen unless they were to accompany us. My parents agreed they would park their RV several hundred feet away well out of sight.

Dropping us off, we excitedly set up the tent, threw our sleeping bags inside, and opened our cooler to have a wiener roast supper over the campfire. How cool were we?

Not as cool as at four a.m. when we woke in the pouring rain to discover we had set up the tent downhill from an incline, sleeping bag, and pyjamas soaked through.

To their credit my parents never came to rescue us. Forty years have passed; I never tented again, ever.

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This was again a piece of bite-size memoir from Lisa Reiter’s prompts, read more about it here:

http://sharingthestoryblog.wordpress.com/2014/05/30/bite-size-memoir-no-5-camping