thirty days of thirty years: eight

Year eight, age seven: September 1989-1990.

Going into the second grade I started complaining that I couldn't see the clock in the back of the room anymore and that it was getting harder to read the chalk on the blackboard. My siblings, of course, were sure that I was making this up. But a few weeks later Dad took me to the eye doctor and it was confirmed that I needed glasses. 

At first, I was pretty excited about the thought of getting glasses. I've heard other people share my sentiment that there was a time when the idea of glasses and braces seemed really cool, although I never needed braces. I think it is the idea that kids of a certain age generally get braces and glasses are an accessory, so if you need them then you have arrived to a certain point. 

Looking back, I have plenty of those ugly-first-pair-of-glasses stories in my repertoire. I picked out these huge, pink, plastic frames that caused many people for years to ask, "are your glasses up-side-down?" I think I looked more like a tiny grandma than a second-grader.

My seventh birthday is one of the few childhood birthdays that I remember very well. I got to have a birthday party at McDonalds, which was, in my opinion at the time, the epitome of awesomeness. I was, however, pretty disappointed when I found out that my dad had scheduled the party for the McDonalds by our house, which did not have a play place. I was sure my party would be ruined, but it wasn't. And I love that my dad tried to give me the birthday party of my dreams. 

Then we had a family birthday party at the Olive Garden with aunts and uncles and grandparents. When the team of singing servers came out to serenade me, I slid under the table to hide from utter embarrassment. I was reminded of this incident for years. In fact, I'm sure I have heard the story mentioned in the past couple years.

The summer after second grade was when I learned to water ski. My dad had this beautiful boat from the sixties, which he bought new and kept in pristine condition, which was present in some of the best memories from my childhood. My grandparents had a little place by Pomme De Terre Lake in central Missouri and we all vacationed there several times a year.

Before we went out to the lake that summer, my dad bought a pair of Ashley-sized water skis from K-Mart that said, "Snoopy's Ski School" on them, which were tied together with a small piece of rope. My dad, siblings and uncle, who we called Unkie, took turns patiently wading out in the water with me multiple times that summer to teach me how to get up on skis. Eventually I got the hang of it, and today water skiing is one of my favorite activities. 

We never traveled to any exotic destinations or even got on an airplane as a family. The definition of a vacation, to me, was a destination that could be reached in the wood-paneled station wagon, within the border of Missouri. And a motel with a pool was deserving of five stars, in my book. But I love the memories of my childhood family vacations. It didn't matter where we went, really, as long as we were going away and fun could be had as a family.