A Parental Memory

This is one of those childhood memories that get preserved in grey matter for some reason.

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I am a young child, just waking up. The light was shining it's morning mood into my bedroom of the trailer. The faintest sounds of birds chirping beautifully breached my windowpanes. I climbed down the handmade wooden ladder from the top bunk of my 'bunk' bed. Underneath my top bunk wasn't another bed- just an alcove, fit for my height, where all my toys and books and clothes laid in a huge tangled mess. The whole bed was handmade by our dad, and my brother's one, just like it. I would always forget that, until the wooden planks felt smoothly sanded, and the high gloss stain stuck to the sweat of your palms clinging to the ladder. 

I don't remember being aware of it then, but it is a clear fact in my memory that we were alone that day. From the hall down the center of the small trailer I could see him cooking in the kitchen. Builder of beds, and now cook of the kitchen. I crossed the open living room and walked up to him. I remember trying to see what he was cooking, but being so short all I could tell was that he had a wok over medium heat. Yuck. I thought. I don't like food from a wok. Strange smells suddenly woke up my senses, like opening the front door on a freezing day.

  I coyly asked him if he would make me breakfast. And, I was thinking cereal.

"Hah! Nope!" He laughed at me. 

My heart sank, and maybe my mouth too. My own parent just laughed at the idea of helping their child eat breakfast! What?! I thought. 

"You missed it," he said, "breakfast is over. If you wanted breakfast, you should have been awake for it!" He continues cooking. 

Maybe I suddenly felt very spoiled by my mother, who would have woke me gently with breakfast waiting. I wished she was in the kitchen with me instead. I couldn't believe he just ordered me to be aware of something before I was awake. I stood there, somewhat shocked. 

He said if I was hungry, I'd have to make it for myself. 

Frustration, and helplessness. Never before do I remember being so easily laughed off by a parent when I asked for help. I thought about how to reach the cabinets. How the bowls were in one of the highest places, even if I stood on the counter on my tip-toes...I wasn't sure I could reach them without falling.

With a wordless defeat, I quietly retreated to my brother's room. Under his bunk, his toys put away...more space to crouch on the floor near the basket of books. 

I don't know how long I played alone. 

And I don't remember feeling hungry, I just remember being over-all sad. My brother wasn't around to make the dumber, boyish toys fun. My mom wasn't around to be sweet to us. I must have known where they were, though I can't recall now. It may have been one of the first times I was bored of being alone. 

I must have been being very good and quiet, because I think he forgot I was in here... Maybe he then remembered me, because I remember him-asking what I wanted for lunch. 

 I agreed to 'macaroni'. 

Smiling, now, I kept playing. Enthralled in the world of miniature plastic cars, dolls, wooden trinkets and crayon-enhanced books... I found something... Among the books were hiding a handful of cassette tapes. I look through their titles, one I recognize. It's from Mary Poppin's, so I pop it in. The tape player is small, one made especially for children. The music began flowing out, chiming the happy lyrics out from under a bed. 

Next I remember the smile that came to my face as I dug my fork into the big curved noodles, packing their buttery, bland bodies into my mouth. He watched me attack that pasta.

 I remember his next remark. 

"Wow, if I'd only known some noodles and butter would appease... "

As my mouth smiled, and slurped in the buttered macaroni, Mary Poppin's kept singing, "I got a blue bird on my shoulder..."