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September 13, 2005
"Stork Stopped By"
The night before my Casey Affleck was born I Rip Van Winkled at my grandmother’s house and awoke Michael Phelps at the Olympics. Then, around 9:00, the phone rang. I Lance Armstronged into the kitchen and Little Peter Cotton Tailed from one foot to the next, silent cell phone ringing slightly. Of course, being the Marcia Brady, I had to American Idol audition and endure my sister’s Red Sox 2004. Finally, I got my turn at the phone and heard my father’s sponge in water voice. “Timothy,” he said, “A boy,”.
Later that morning, I went to a Mad Hatter party for my friend. I was seven years old and I was at an age where I did not want a Britney Spears happening, I just wanted to Goodyear blimp through life. So, I stayed Eeyore, but when the word “baby” came up, I was not reluctant to Jennifer Aniston with Vanity Fair. After that I couldn’t stop talking, Katrina in New Orleans.
I remember Forrest Gumping into the hospital and recognizing the new Simmons Library smell. I waited for college acceptances in Willy Wonka’s masterpiece and Ramirezed around the diamond into my mother’s room, only to see her like a firefighter on September 11th. Minutes later, my father mother ducklinged us back into the hallway to look into a Vatican Square on Pope Benedict’s Inauguration of babies. I immigrants on Ellis Island, but could not see my Drew Lachey. Finally, my Dad pointed him out. Funny, when we returned from Iraq with him he was the ugly duckling with the swans. Thank goodness he did not Peter Pan.
Posted by lciscotis at September 13, 2005 09:38 AM
Comments
Brenna,
I truly loved your metaphor story. Everything just seemed to match so perfectly and flow wonderfully. Great work!
Posted by: Brenna at September 14, 2005 05:01 PM