Moving on

There comes a time in your life when it's time to move on. For me it's been 14 times (including a few during my college years). On my own (cue the Anita Baker) I've moved 10 out of those 14 times. And not every move has been as picture perfect as a postcard. A few have been downright traumatic. Let's talk about those shall we?

The first move I remember was when we moved from Jacksonville, FL to Hotlanta. I bet people who live there hate it when you call it that. It's really not that hot and well, aren't they known for peaches and bulldogs? Even though I was born in New Orleans, I don't remember a thing about it. Makes me wonder if mom dipped my bottle's nip in some boozey booze to keep "baby" quiet. It would explain why my "forgettin days" started earlier than most. Regardless, after 7 of the best years of my young life, we were hitting the road to a place I don't remember knowing much about.

What I did know a lot about was going to Jacksonville Beach damn near everyday. I mean, hell, my mom was so tan from frying herself on those silver sheets, greasing herself with Bain De Soleil that most people thought she was Middle Eastern. I also remember riding my bike all around my neighborhood, stopping at friends' houses, high tailing it to the Lil Champ for some Fun Dip and then over to the pool high on sugar. I remember swimming everyday and never wanting to stop. I also remember seeing my dad cry for the first time. Florida was idealistic. And it was hard for all of us to say good-bye (okay, now you can cue the Boys to Men).

Next was our move from Hotlanta to Reston, VA (actually Herndon but no one knows where the hell that place is). It wasn't that tough considering we were barely there over a year. The main thing I remember about Atlanta was crawling through the pipes that went underground all over our neighborhood and being mortified after sneezing a giant gob of snot on my desk at school in front of the entire class. After that, I was ready to make another move.

Virginia would prove to be exciting from the start. So much so, that the night before our first day at school I was shaken awake by sister yelling, "We're all going to die!!! We're all going to die!!!" To which I promptly responded to by running down 9 flights of stairs with my sister only to get to the bottom and realize we left our parents back in the room. You'll be glad to know that even though I might leave you after being told I'm going to die, I'll always come back to save you once I've gained a bit of consciousness. But it didn't matter, because when we got back to the room our parents couldn't care less. They were preoccupied with taking inventory of all of our stuff. See, my mom didn't like to pack her "good stuff" on the moving van, so all her jewels and such were with us in the room and there was no way in hell she was leaving them behind. Eventually, when we made it back down we and after an hour, we were told that it was a false alarm and to go back up to our rooms. Which was great and all but I can say I was the jumpiest 4th grader with dark circles under their eyes that their first day at a new school. Hey, what can I say. Even back then I knew how to make quite an impression. But our next move from Virginia to St. Louis, MO or rather, Chesterfield, MO would prove to be the most exciting yet.

My mom and I made the move without my sister or dad because my sister was in Spain that summer "going to school" i.e., drinking and sunning in Portugal, while my dad was finishing work in Virginia or traveling for work (I really can't remember, he traveled a lot). We lived in a hotel for two weeks waiting on the moving vans. While I was at school my mom got a call and it wasn't good news. One of our moving vans had been in an accident and ripped in two along the highway near an underpass. Ripped like a soda can in two. Luckily, the car and big furniture pieces were in another van that was safely making its way to us. The ripped one carried all our clothes, toys, the dollhouse my dad, I mean Santa built and other things like bikes and stuff. Really not what you want to hear when your parents just made you move the summer before your Senior year in high school. But there was an upside. All the clothes arrived dry cleaned. Not a bad deal in the end. Well, at least not to my mom.

Other moves I;ve made along the way were less traumatic/uneventful when compared to these early gems but I've still got time.