The Difficult Dawsons, Destiny, And An Unknown, Soon To Be Forgotten Dynasty
We are a pretty pathetic bunch. You would think that of the ten of us the chances that at least one would wear the ‘cool’ genes would be pretty high. Nope.
No one in my family would win a popularity contest. Melanie, the self-proclaimed baby princess, may come close. She’s the only one in the family with blond hair and blue eyes. Even so, I don’t think she would wear the Miss Popular crown. She’s too emotional.
Hannah’s hair is too frizzy. Meg’s too stubborn. Andrew’s mouth is too damn filthy. David’s too nerdy. Nat, too aloof. Sarah, too dramatic. Mom, too quiet. Dad too loud. And me, I’m just misunderstood.
We are difficult too. We hold ourselves in very high esteem. Each and every single one of us. I guess that is how you survive a crazy childhood.
Tell my dad to finish his beer. Dinner will be on the table at 6:30. Milk and water. No juice, no soda. We are hungry. Rushed in from our outdoor activities. Ask him please to not to make us wait. The game of darts can wait. Dinner is getting cold. It’s Wednesday, and 90210, or 9176543281996 as he likes to call it, is on tonight. Dylan and Brenda may get back together. Tivo doesn’t exist yet, so we can’t record it.
Hopefully, Dave and Andrew won’t blast Ruff Riders as loud as last night. Then we won’t be able to hear the TV. The little girls already got their baths. The bathroom is free. And tell my dad that after dinner, he is free to go ‘see a man about a horse.’ Sarah knows that he won’t come home with a horse. Even though she still gets excited everytime he says it.
The phone always rings during dinner. No hats, no singing, pass the food clockwise, say grace before you touch the food, and no phone calls. That’s the rule. You can’t answer if it is kids line. You have to wait for the machine to pick up. I always hope it is for me, but it never is. We have a business line too. Our friends can’t call the business line. It is for the business. Good ole Daves GHM. Its so unfair. Only mom and dad use the business line, the other eight of us compete for scraps of time of the kids line. 609-768-8521. Call me. No one ever does. When the phone rings, it is usually for Natalie. It’s usually Brian Collins, my crush, her boyfriend.
I always give Natalie twenty minutes. That is the phone quota if someone needs to use it after you. I never have anyone to call. But I like being difficult. Number five needs attention.
I remember my first swig of alcohol. I was in third grade. I shared a room with Hannah and Sarah. Sarah and I had bunk beds. She slept on top of me. You know what I mean. Hannah slept in the minature Barney bed. Sarah kept all of her horses on the shelf by her bed. She swears that when she wasn’t around I played with them and purposely broke their legs. I think they just fell from the top bunk, like she does in the middle of the night. Our room didn’t have any walking space.
David was home from his freshman year at college. My parents were out. Probably at a beef and beer. That is what Berliners do for fun, eat beef, drink beer, grow bellies and play fire company softball.
Our room was right next to the bathroom. David had a party. He is a nerd, but for some reason, he was surprisingly cool at Monmouth College (before it became University).
It was because of his best friend Norm. Norm was the third love of my life – after Brian Collins and Donnie Walls. Norm died in a car accident David’s first year out of college. I was a sophomore in High School
Norm was fun. My dad called him the social director. He had a devilish grin that melted my ultra-serious ten year old heart. Even in his casket, that smile made me melt.
After his funeral, I went to my basketball game. It was a big one against our conference rivals – Washington Township. I wrote Norm on my shoes. I cried before the game, and after the game. I scored 32 points. Mostly layups. All because of Norm. I play best when I cry.
There were lots of people at Dave’s party. Some of Natalie’s friends too. Natalie was popular, but she got the crazy gene. Nat and Norm had a thing. Norm loved Natalie, and Donnie Walls loved Sarah. No one loved me. Besides my mom.
Everyone at the party used the bathroom. I think some people smoked pot in there too. The walls are thin in the house. Most of them have holes. You can hear the toilet paper roll dispensing from our room. When Andrew moved in there after some of us went to college, he cringed at how wasteful his sisters were when it came to wiping their asses.
I couldn’t sleep. We could hear everything. I was a bit curious. Eyes closed, ears open. I felt like I was missing out. Those bastards. Not letting me sleep, not letting me join the fun. I was wearing a rainbow brite night gown. My frizzy brown hair, a tangled mess.
Someone came in our room. They must have seen the whites of my eyes and realized it wasn’t the bathroom. Then someone else came in, and sat on the bed. They started talking. I couldn’t understand them. They were a bumbling mess. It pissed me off. The spaz came out.
I stormed out of bed, into the hallway, down the stairs, around the corner and into the dining room. “You are all Assholes. David, you are an asshole. That is right, assholes. I am telling on all of you. Alcohol. Unbelievable, assholes.”
My tirade complete, I wiped the nest away from my eyes. There he was, sitting at the head of the table, serenely gazing at me. Norm.
Oh shit. I just lost my shit in front of him. Luckily, he wasn’t mad. Rachel, come here, he said as he motioned me to take the bench seat beside him.
You want to try some. “No you are an asshole.” I said, trying to maintain some vestige of self-respect. Try a little, he said, as he pourred the clear substance into the bottle cap.
That grin melted my 10 year old heart. I took it. It burned the back of my throat. He watched. So did everyone else.
When I finished my swig, Norm turned to me, smiling proudly, and said, “Now you can’t tell on us because you drank too.”
The bastard. Oh, how I adored him.
We are a pretty pathetic bunch. You would think that of the ten of us the chances that at least one would wear the ‘cool’ genes would be pretty high. Nope.
No one in my family would win a popularity contest. Melanie, the self-proclaimed baby princess, may come close. She’s the only one in the family with blond hair and blue eyes. Even so, I don’t think she would wear the Miss Popular crown. She’s too emotional.
Hannah’s hair is too frizzy. Meg’s too stubborn. Andrew’s mouth is too damn filthy. David’s too nerdy. Nat, too aloof. Sarah, too dramatic. Mom, too quiet. Dad too loud. And me, I’m just misunderstood.
We are difficult too. We hold ourselves in very high esteem. Each and every single one of us. I guess that is how you survive a crazy childhood.
Tell my dad to finish his beer. Dinner will be on the table at 6:30. Milk and water. No juice, no soda. We are hungry. Rushed in from our outdoor activities. Ask him please to not to make us wait. The game of darts can wait. Dinner is getting cold. It’s Wednesday, and 90210, or 9176543281996 as he likes to call it, is on tonight. Dylan and Brenda may get back together. Tivo doesn’t exist yet, so we can’t record it.
Hopefully, Dave and Andrew won’t blast Ruff Riders as loud as last night. Then we won’t be able to hear the TV. The little girls already got their baths. The bathroom is free. And tell my dad that after dinner, he is free to go ‘see a man about a horse.’ Sarah knows that he won’t come home with a horse. Even though she still gets excited everytime he says it.
The phone always rings during dinner. No hats, no singing, pass the food clockwise, say grace before you touch the food, and no phone calls. That’s the rule. You can’t answer if it is kids line. You have to wait for the machine to pick up. I always hope it is for me, but it never is. We have a business line too. Our friends can’t call the business line. It is for the business. Good ole Daves GHM. Its so unfair. Only mom and dad use the business line, the other eight of us compete for scraps of time of the kids line. 609-768-8521. Call me. No one ever does. When the phone rings, it is usually for Natalie. It’s usually Brian Collins, my crush, her boyfriend.
I always give Natalie twenty minutes. That is the phone quota if someone needs to use it after you. I never have anyone to call. But I like being difficult. Number five needs attention.
I remember my first swig of alcohol. I was in third grade. I shared a room with Hannah and Sarah. Sarah and I had bunk beds. She slept on top of me. You know what I mean. Hannah slept in the minature Barney bed. Sarah kept all of her horses on the shelf by her bed. She swears that when she wasn’t around I played with them and purposely broke their legs. I think they just fell from the top bunk, like she does in the middle of the night. Our room didn’t have any walking space.
David was home from his freshman year at college. My parents were out. Probably at a beef and beer. That is what Berliners do for fun, eat beef, drink beer, grow bellies and play fire company softball.
Our room was right next to the bathroom. David had a party. He is a nerd, but for some reason, he was surprisingly cool at Monmouth College (before it became University).
It was because of his best friend Norm. Norm was the third love of my life – after Brian Collins and Donnie Walls. Norm died in a car accident David’s first year out of college. I was a sophomore in High School
Norm was fun. My dad called him the social director. He had a devilish grin that melted my ultra-serious ten year old heart. Even in his casket, that smile made me melt.
After his funeral, I went to my basketball game. It was a big one against our conference rivals – Washington Township. I wrote Norm on my shoes. I cried before the game, and after the game. I scored 32 points. Mostly layups. All because of Norm. I play best when I cry.
There were lots of people at Dave’s party. Some of Natalie’s friends too. Natalie was popular, but she got the crazy gene. Nat and Norm had a thing. Norm loved Natalie, and Donnie Walls loved Sarah. No one loved me. Besides my mom.
Everyone at the party used the bathroom. I think some people smoked pot in there too. The walls are thin in the house. Most of them have holes. You can hear the toilet paper roll dispensing from our room. When Andrew moved in there after some of us went to college, he cringed at how wasteful his sisters were when it came to wiping their asses.
I couldn’t sleep. We could hear everything. I was a bit curious. Eyes closed, ears open. I felt like I was missing out. Those bastards. Not letting me sleep, not letting me join the fun. I was wearing a rainbow brite night gown. My frizzy brown hair, a tangled mess.
Someone came in our room. They must have seen the whites of my eyes and realized it wasn’t the bathroom. Then someone else came in, and sat on the bed. They started talking. I couldn’t understand them. They were a bumbling mess. It pissed me off. The spaz came out.
I stormed out of bed, into the hallway, down the stairs, around the corner and into the dining room. “You are all Assholes. David, you are an asshole. That is right, assholes. I am telling on all of you. Alcohol. Unbelievable, assholes.”
My tirade complete, I wiped the nest away from my eyes. There he was, sitting at the head of the table, serenely gazing at me. Norm.
Oh shit. I just lost my shit in front of him. Luckily, he wasn’t mad. Rachel, come here, he said as he motioned me to take the bench seat beside him.
You want to try some. “No you are an asshole.” I said, trying to maintain some vestige of self-respect. Try a little, he said, as he pourred the clear substance into the bottle cap.
That grin melted my 10 year old heart. I took it. It burned the back of my throat. He watched. So did everyone else.
When I finished my swig, Norm turned to me, smiling proudly, and said, “Now you can’t tell on us because you drank too.”
The bastard. Oh, how I adored him.
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