A groovy little website by children's book author Mike Allegra
Because my biological clock hates me, I am often the first person to wake up in my house. I’ve grudgingly come to accept this, but this acceptance doesn’t make me any more pleasant to be around. Continue reading “Death By 1,000 Cuts”
When my older sister, Gina, became a high school junior, the house suddenly got very loud. It was time for her to declare her independence from everyone and everything, and that, apparently, cannot be accomplished with an inside voice.
She yelled early and often in a shrill, tenacious soprano that burrowed directly into my head at the left temple and ricocheted off the interior of my skull. (Once a noise like that gets inside your cranium, by the way, it’s very difficult to get it out. On quiet nights I can still hear a faint, echoing “IT’S NOT FAIR!” circa. 1981.) If Gina was the only one making unpleasantly loud noises it wouldn’t have been so bad; unfortunately she inspired similarly loud noises from my parents.
When those three voices filled the house in a hollering harmony, all I wished to do was go elsewhere.
That was when I began to take an interest in the woods.
I love my mom a lot, but she really hates it when I write about her. So let’s keep this re-post just between us, OK?
Shh.
When my age reached double digits, Mom let me stay up late on weekends. Not just late, but as late as I liked. This was heady stuff to a 10-year-old, so I spent my Friday nights adjusting the rabbit ears for UHF, staying up until the wee hours to watch cinematic classics like Glen or Glenda and Terror in Tiny Town. The movies were beyond terrible, but they were also on late, so they were awesome.
Mom’s generosity, however, came with a catch. She didn’t care what time I went to bed, but she did care what time I got up. Anything after 9 a.m. was strictly forbidden. If there was even the slightest chance I’d oversleep, she would give me The Wakeup Call.
Hey, Look! A Writer Fellow! 