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Tuesday, December 6, 2011

I Am Me Because I Was 8

The longer I stay married to Sallie, the more I realize how much our childhood shapes who we turn out to be.

For instance, even when its 5 degrees outside, the wind is howling, and Sallie is freezing her poor circulatory butt off, she still needs a fan to sleep. Even if I'm so cold, I'm shaking the bed from my teeth chattering and I can't sleep, that fan has to be running. It's such a necessity that she brings fans on vacation with her.

I've been told I can thank Papa Hickle for that one.

Or because Matt trapped Sallie under a sleeping bag and wouldn't get off of her when they were young, Sallie can't stand the feeling of being restrained.

My family was always big on tucking the corners of the sheets into the bed, but the first time I made the bed when Sallie and I were married, she pulled those blankets out so quickly I questioned if I ever made it in the first place.

Or me with milk. Thanks to my mom, I can't drink milk unless its 2% and from my fridge. Logically, I know that my milk was right alongside all the other cartons of milk in the grocery store, but if I go to your house and you offer me a glass, I will not drink it. I can't even think about drinking milk from a restaurant without the ole' gag reflex starting up.

Then there's things that I never did as a kid, but find myself doing now. My dad was legendary for screaming "GOAAAAAAAAAALLLLL!!!" and rattling the windows in the house whenever the Blues scored.

I loved the Blues as a kid, but never picked up that tradition. Then I stopped following the Blues throughout highschool. You know, something my father loves, I gotta rebel because parents just don't understand me, and I hate them, and I'm running away from home. I was also busy quite unsuccessfully chasing women.

Then college came, and I got a bit busy with school and work and only slightly more successful at chasing women. So there was no time for hockey.

Started watching it again when we moved back to St. Louis a few years ago. And knee jerk reaction, and much to Sallie's dismay, I find myself screaming whenever the Blues score. It's not always "GOOAAAAALLL!!!!" like my father. Sometimes for particularly impressive goals like the one below, I tend to blurt out, "oh, SHIT!" Emphasis on the curse word. This drives Sallie nuts. She always thinks I hurt myself.





And then there's the picky eating. My dad is a meat and potatoes sort of guy, so our meals were pretty standardized as children. I could pretty accurately fill out a months calendar with what we were probably going to eat. Because of this, Nick won't touch anything green and not on a pizza. (I've heard he's gotten better.)

I'm a pretty open guy when it comes to trying new things. I eat Sushi and Indian food. I've had octopus and alligator before. I'm completely open to trying pretty well anything, I just might not like it.

Sallie gets angry at me sometimes because I will say, "I don't really care what we eat tonight, pick something." As she starts rattling off things she wants to eat, I check with my appetite to see if that would please me, and when it doesn't, she flips out saying I'm picky.

To me, I'm not being picky. I just wasn't inspired to make my own decision. I guess instead of saying, "I don't really care what we eat tonight." I should say, "Start saying food and I'll process that through the appetite filter, and see if its something I would enjoy."

Anyway, point is, I've realized how much our childhoods influence who we are. Don't know why I only now noticed it, but its become very apparent to me the past two weeks.

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