Cars, Trumpets, T.V.'s… Oh My — Repost

Me thinking about my childhood…

I did some stupid things as a kid.

Like one time, while sitting at a red light, my mom was driving and listening to music. While she wasn’t looking, I may or may not have moved the gear into reverse. When the light turned green, we started moving backwards.

We didn’t hit the car behind us, but for some reason my mother started freaking out. She managed to shift the gear in time to save our lives. Later that night she told my father, and it was one of the few times I got spanked.

My issue with the whole situation was this: no one had ever told me not to randomly put a car in reverse. I did a terrible thing—but I had no idea what I was doing. I protest that spanking to this day!

Of course, later, when I learned how to drive, I may have repeated my mistake. Once, on an exit ramp, I may or may not have reversed because it was the wrong exit. In my defense, as everyone in the car started screaming—including me—no one was behind me.

No one was behind me, people.

Look, we didn’t die.

I got my permit early, not because I was a good driver, but because my father was losing his eyesight and needed to be driven around. When I first started driving him, he would grip the door handle and look like he was praying.

He was definitely praying.

At one point he told me he would take scissors and cut my license into tiny pieces if I ever tried to kill him again. At the time, I didn’t really understand what the big deal was.

However, my problem may have been hereditary.

When my mom first came to America, she was used to driving on the left side of the road, like in India. So naturally, while learning, she may have drifted into oncoming traffic more than once.

My father, who was teaching her at the time, was fully sighted and fully terrified. They eventually got a driving instructor. I can’t imagine why.

Once, while driving us to Bangkok Cuisine, she attempted a left U-turn… by driving directly over the flower-filled median.

“Where did that come from?” she said, as the car jolted.

We were silent. Terrified. Silent.

She just kept driving like nothing had happened.

This actually happened. I lived to tell about it.

Before I had to operate large machinery, my main job as a child was playing.

I rode my hot pink Huffy bike around the neighborhood.

I sang and danced to Madonna in my best friend’s basement all day long. None of that led to me being in tune, musically or otherwise.

Back then, I could watch T.V. for four hours straight. Now I watch for four minutes and realize there is nothing on across four hundred channels.

We had an old Zenith T.V. with a knob you had to physically turn. The screen was slightly rounded, people’s heads looked a little oblong, and it had an antenna.

Then, when I was eleven, we got a new big screen T.V. It had oak cabinets and cost three thousand dollars—which was a fortune then and still is now.

They told me it was my birthday present.

I was truly touched.

Speaking of touching, a few days after we got it, I was adjusting the antenna. The screen had grooves, and somehow my nail—painted hot pink—left a small mark right in the middle.

Let the record show: it was dry nail polish. I did not touch the screen with wet nails.

I had no idea I had caused it.

But soon my parents noticed.

“What is that?” they asked. “Is it a bug? Did it come like that?”

To this day, they believe I intentionally painted the T.V. screen.

Do you know how insane that sounds? What kind of child walks up to a brand new T.V. and just starts painting it?

Apparently, the kind who, years earlier, painted the stairs with orange nail polish. (For the record, that was not my idea.)

We tried everything to get the spot off. Even nail polish remover—which somehow made it worse. The pink spot developed a three-dimensional effect and stayed there for twenty years.

Twenty years.

Years later, my parents would still say, “Just tell us the truth.”

I was telling the truth.

No one believed me.

Our old Zenith T.V. with my trumpet on top...

Then one day, my mom decided she was done with us bringing food into the living room.

She knew exactly what was drawing us there: the T.V.

So she took a pair of scissors… and cut the cord.

Right in front of us.

It was dramatic. Final. Violent.

My sister and I were stunned. It was like she had shot the T.V.

We didn’t use that three-thousand-dollar T.V. for ten years.

Ten years.

At some point, we could have fixed the cord. But we didn’t dare. She had made herself very clear: there would be no more T.V. in that room.

When we finally did fix it, it no longer worked.

Of course it didn’t.

We had someone gut it and turn the oak cabinet into… a cabinet.

Here’s what bothers me.

I am still accused of the nail polish “incident.”

Meanwhile, someone cut the entire cord off a perfectly good T.V.

No consequences.

None.

I’m not saying there was favoritism.

I’m just saying… one of us left a tiny pink dot.

The other one destroyed the whole system

We now have multiple T.V.’s, hundreds of channels, and nothing to watch.

Back then, we had one T.V., five channels, and we were glued to it.

Funny how that works.

Oh—and yes, I still have the trumpet.

I was forced into it after being told I wasn’t good enough for the saxophone. I practiced in the basement. Loudly. Badly. Like a dying animal with brass.

One day my parents sat me down.

That was the end of my trumpet career.

So now I have:

• a trumpet I can’t play

• a T.V. I didn’t ruin

• and a reputation I never recovered from

If anyone wants to buy any of these things, let me know.

Before I decide to use them again.

nina

A couple of friends and I started a podcast called 2 Curries and a Ranch. Listen here: https://2curriesandaranch.riverside.com/  or wherever you get your podcasts.

Imagine two loud, dramatic, hilarious Indian women explaining to a white man what it's like to grow up and live in America. Join us for laughter, deep thoughts, and witty banter about life, love and culture. We tell it like it is, with honest, bold and funny stories, discussions and arguments. We explore boundaries and challenge norms. Join us for a good talk.

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