So, I was going through some papers the other night from some classes this past semester. I ran across one in particular from my teaching reading and language arts class. I remember this assignment quite well. Our teacher gave us a writing prompt before we ended class and told us that our next assignment would be a journal about a vivid memory that we had from our childhood. I still laugh when I think of this particular memory! Mary, just know that I got an A+ on this assignment and had the instructor rolling out of her seat!
So, here is it is:
“The Battle of the Boob Tube”
By Margaret Zach
In order to get the most out of my story, I need to give you a little background on the people who were involved. It all started some odd years ago…17 to be exact. I was about 14 years old and in the 7th grade at a small town catholic school. My favorite teacher was Mrs. Randall, she taught all my English and literature classes. Her husband, Lyle, just so happened to work at the local Farmers Co-op along with my dad. I have a sister, several actually, but one that this particular incident involved. Her name is Mary, but from now on I will be referring to her as “the lunatic.”
The day started out just the same as any other Saturday. I got up, polished off my usual bowl of puffed oat cereal topped with a cup of sugar and I proceeded into our grand living room. Quite to my surprise, I found that I was the first one to get dibs on that great heaping monstrosity nestled in the corner of our faux wood, brown paneled walls. I could almost see the glow surrounding it, as if to say, “Turn me on, watch whatever you want!” I didn’t hesitate. There was still plenty of time to watch Saved by the Bell before I was booted out! I turned on the boob tube and roamed through the channels until I found what I wanted. I was quite content, sitting all cozily in my dad’s big comfy chair watching (what I can’t actually remember) an episode about why it took Zach so long to ask Kelly to their high school dance. As I was engrossed in this nail biting dilemma unfolding in front of me, queenie enters the room, or rather, “the lunatic.”
Normally, I give up my right freely, to let the others in the family boss me around. I am the baby and those are the rules, or so I have been told. The lunatic wanders casually over to the boob tube and, without another thought for how I might feel, turns the channel. It was probably something like MTV, which our dad constantly said “that trash you’re watching will be the demise of the world as we know it!” I like to think that I was a daddy’s girl and, well, you know; I didn’t want to let him down. Something came over me and I decided that I would stand up for my rights as an individual in our home. We were all born equal, right? So, I aloofly walked back up to the boob tube (we did not have that little piece of heaven called a remote control) and changed the channel back to what I wanted. It was more to prove a point than anything. This was about the time “the lunatic” yelled, “MARGARET, turn it back or I will pound you into the ground!” It was something like that anyway. I sweetly and innocently turned to her and politely said, “No thank you sweet sister.” Apparently she did not hear my courteous answer. This was about the time that the battle of the boob tube broke turf.
Suddenly, the crazed lunatic bounded towards me and pushed me on her way to turn the channel back to MTV, which I knew was the spawn of Satan, because I heard dad say that it was. I couldn’t let her do it, so I pushed back. At this point things go a little grey. All I remember is the screaming, hair pulling, eye poking, and spleen kicking battle that ensued. Not once did any of my brothers (oh yah…did I mention that, I also have eight brothers) come to my rescue. I am not sure where they were all at, but a few of them were eating breakfast and couldn’t have possibly ignored the fact that the front room sounded as if a hurricane were plowing through, along with the fact that our kitchen and living room was one big “great room.” Anyway, as I was saying, things were a little grey here. The lunatic said that when I decided to spit on her and blow my boogers on her that is what sent her into a wild fury. I can’t imagine that I, the sweet and innocent baby of the family who would never hurt a fly, would even consider doing something as disgusting as that. But, that is how the lunatic saw it.
It must have been around this time in mid-lugie, and several fistfuls of hair later that we each heard it. Suddenly, you could have heard a pin drop as every thing seemed to freeze in motion, even the boys were in mid-chomp as, again, the noise occurred. It could not possibly be! Someone was knocking on our front door. The same door that opens into the living room, right where the battle of the boob tube had been taking place! We were like two deer caught in the headlights. The lunatic and I couldn’t run fast enough. Suddenly, we were glued together at the hips, peeking around our dining room wall at the door, willing whoever it was to just go away. They wouldn’t stop knocking! The boys had long since high-tailed it out of the kitchen to return to their hiding hole. The lunatic and I were left with no choice.
As we were quietly pushing each other to go answer the door, it occurred to each of us that this predicament was quite funny. It must have been our embarrassment and the shame, but we began to have fits of laughter that would not stop. After seeing that she would not be the one to answer the door, I finally got up the nerve to do it. Still laughing, tears streaming down my face, flaming cheeks and all, I did it. I answered the door. I couldn’t have been more mortified. It was Lyle. You know…the guy that works with my dad and who is married to my all time favorite teacher – Mrs. Randall!
Not only was it Lyle, but he just so happened to have his 8 year old son and 6 year old daughter with him. Needless to say, he had a goofy lopsided grin and had only this to say, “Should I come back at another time? Perhaps after you are done killing each other?” I will end my story here as it is a whole other story about how my father reacted and the consequences to the lunatic and my actions.
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