Consequences...

Have you noticed that as you get older, you start to worry more about consequences? I mean, it's obvious - you become an adult, so you have more responsibilities and more things depend on you or your actions. Instead of doing things willy-nilly, you start weighing out pros and cons, making lists, planning things to every minute detail...it's exhausting! Why can't things be easy and simple like when we were kids?

I never thought of consequences back then.

For example...When I was a kid,  I used to be in a folk dance group. We used to perform  for special occasions, such as cultural days and Christmas programs or different places like hospitals or nursing homes. We'd dance, people would clap with delight and everyone would be happy.

Well, one day we were performing at a nursing home, but this nursing home happened to be out of town. The families of the performers all drove out for the day.  For some reason, we decided to stop off at someone's cottage on our way. The only thing was, that it had been raining previously and this person's cabin was in the middle of nowhere surrounded by random mud puddles. Us kids got out of the car to go check out the beach. Our parents told us to not to go far because we wouldn't be staying long. They also told us to be careful of the mud puddles. One of  my friends was wearing little flats and I secretly scoffed at her thinking "Duh, why wouldn't she wear runners?"...

When it was time to go our parents called back to the cars, as we had to get to the nursing home before all the residents went down for their naps. We decided to race back and I thought it would be faster if I just ran THROUGH the mud puddles instead of around them.Of course I promptly slipped on my butt and I was covered with (and stuck in) mud. My other "dainty" friend had smartly avoided this and looked at me with disdain. Now, I don't know about you, but when we were kids, if we got hurt, we wouldn't get sympathy. We'd get in trouble. Our parents would be all "Oh, SEE? Why did you do that? It's your own fault!" And this is exactly what happened to me. I totally got in trubs for slipping in this mud. My hands, legs and butt were covered in mud. Did I mention that my dad was driving his new camaro? Yeah, I had to sit on newspapers in the back, getting in trubs all the way to the nursing home. My mom kept saying "Why would you run through the mud?! Your friends didn't run through the mud! WHY would you run through the mud?!" Of course this was a rhetorical question and an answer was not required...though she would look at me expectantly waiting for me to say something. I couldn't say "I wanted to win the race!". So I just sat there, bawling my head off, regretting my decision and cursing the fact that I didn't think of the consequences of my actions. Then again, how was I to know I'd fall in the mud? I was wearing runners!

Another time, we had a family trip to visit my parents friends. Some of their other friends and their kids also came along, so there was quite a big group of us. For the first couple of days everything was good. Then we went to their church that Sunday. We all got dressed up in our Sunday best.  My dad always carried chewing gum then, so he gave me some to keep me quiet during the service. I was sitting across the aisle from one of the other kids that had come on this trip with us and showed off that I got gum. (I really don't know why I thought I was so cool, but I did). Well, you know how that kind of gum eventually gets hard and you just want to spit it out? Well, I was sitting in between both parents, so I couldn't get out to throw it out. I thought that I could just take it out and hold it in my hand until the service was over and I could put it in the trash. So I took it out of my mouth. I held it gingerly in my fingers. Then I started to play around with it (you know how gooey gum is!). But then it started to really get sticky. So I tried to pull it apart. Of course, it just got longer and gooey-er. Then I thought, well maybe if I use my other fingers to get it off? And well...you can imagine that now BOTH hands were sticky with gum. (I seriously don't know how I get myself into these situations). When the service was finally over, my parents noticed me trying to get the gum off and... obvi  I got in trubs again. And that other kid shook her head and gave me a look that said "I didn't get gum all over MY hands." How would I know that that little piece of gum would become the STICKIEST and gooey-ist piece of gum on the face of the earth??

I never thought about the consequences. Like that time I thought I had the BEST plan EVER...

We had heard the bells ringing from a block away. The popsicle man was riding his bike down our street! It was one of those hot summer Saturday afternoons and a red, white and blue rocket pop was just the ticket. We flagged the popsicle man down, but alas, we did not have enough money. So I came up with a brilliant plan. I was going to tell my dad (who happened to be over at the neighbors house) that the paper boy had come collecting. (In those days, the paper boy would deliver your paper and once a week would come by "collecting" money for the paper subscription). I saw my parents give him money hundreds of times and I knew there should be enough in there to get a couple popsicles and ice cream for myself, my sister and my cousin.

I ran over to the neighbors and breathlessly told my dad the paper boy was "collecting". He thought it was odd, but I was insistent, so he gave me the money anyways, and went on with his conversation with our neighbor. I ran back to our house where the popsicle man was starting to look suspicious of my sister and cousin who kept trying to stall him. I triumphantly handed over the money and told my sister and cousin that we had enough to get them whatever they wanted. They each chose their popsicle and I got mine and like 56 cents back. We quickly ate our popsicles in the basement for fear of someone catching us. We wolfed it down so quickly we didn't even have time to enjoy it! My dad eventually came home and I gave him his change. He wasn't really paying attention, but he stuck it in his pocket. I thought to myself "Whew! I TOTALLY pulled it off." Everything was great and I forgot about it...until Tuesday.

That's when the real paperboy came collecting. My dad came to the door and said "I already paid you". The paper boy looked perplexed and said that no, he hadn't come around asking for money until today. Uh-oh. I sat in my room, trying to figure out what to do. Should I climb out of my window and run away?! UGH. Then I heard "Lisette! Come here." I slowly walked to the door where my dad and the paperboy were standing. My dad asked me "Is this the paperboy you gave money to last Saturday?" I looked at the paper boy, who looked back at me with eyes that said "I'm terrified of your dad". And I squeaked out a "No." So my dad got even more annoyed and said, "Well who did you give that money to then?" Of course, I couldn't say I used it for popsicles! Crap. I said "Um...I dunno.I can't remember." Anyways, the paperboy, who looked completely terrified that 1) my dad was going to yell at him but 2) that he wasn't going to get paid for the subscription and thus, get yelled at by HIS boss, quietly said "Um...Sir, do you, uh, want me to come back?"  Sensing his fear, my dad reluctantly paid the paper boy who beat it out of there as fast as he could. He turned back to me and said "Hoy..You better go and find that other kid you gave the money to." So I went outside and walked around our neighborhood, berating myself for the WORST plan EVER...UGH. I finally told my dad last year that I did that, thinking he'd think it was funny. I got in trubs.

Yup. Consequences.

Hm...maybe being an adult isn't so bad.