Where we put our childhood memories and how they get buried, verses when they suddenly choose to reappear has always fascinated me. However, in some cases the memory that resurfaces is so much more interesting than the other.
The trigger to this memories reemergence was a simple photograph of a rooster. (Told you some memories are more interesting than trying to figure out the ‘why’ of where they’ve laid dormant for years on end.)
When my mom was angry with me, she’d call me unflattering names. One morning, shortly before noon, I did something that really peeved her off.
She yelled at me, “You’re such a little cock.”
(Raised in a bar, Mom learned from a very young age to drink, smoke and swear with the best of them.)
Unphased by her name-calling by the time I turned 17, I smarted her back, “I think the polite way to say that is ‘You’re such a Bantam Rooster.’”
She chased me out of the house with whatever she had in her hand. When playing-chicken with a ‘near-death’ experience, it’s always best to be quicker than the experience.
The Old Blog in the Desert 
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