Block Head

When I was 6 years old, my parents bought a huge set of rainbow-colored foam blocks for us kids to play with in the basement. They were about 10”x5”x5” and we made all kinds of things out of them.

My favorite thing to play with the blocks was “mailman.” We would make a few forts out of blocks (we had a LOT of them) and leave little nooks and crannies between the blocks for mail to be delivered through.

When we weren’t playing with the foam blocks, they were stored in a great big bag that my mom had sewn. This bag, when full, when taller than me. And much wider. I think my mom must have been an organizational genius and master seamstress back then, now that I think about it in hindsight.

Anyhow, my second favorite thing to do with the blocks was to climb into the bag, wiggle down in between the massive amount of softness, and have my siblings tie the top closed. And then I would tell them to push me down the stairs in the bag.

And then, moments later, I would lie on the couch with a concussion and ask my grandmother repeatedly where I was and who the heck she was.

My third favorite thing to do with those awesome blocks was pee in the garbage can in my room.

I am getting ahead of myself…

I had a couple teenage uncles when I was a wee lass and they were often recruited as our babysitters. One night, my parents were out and Uncle Dan was in charge. Long after we had gone to bed, Dan got bored and decided to “play with the blocks.” He built a ceiling-height wall in the hallway upstairs. Just for fun. Or something. Today he is a civil engineer.

And this is his favorite story to bring up whenever I come ‘round.

Good times!

You should know... I was a bed-wetter. There, I said it. I either wet the bed or had to get up to go potty every single night. Sometimes I would dream that I was in a pasture with cows and I would have the strong urge to go wee-wee. And the cows would say, “It’s okay, Angie. You are on the toilet. You can pee now.” And so I would. And the warm, wet sensation would wake me and I would curse those cows! And my dear mother would curse me.

On that fateful night when Uncle Dan (Dan-the-Man) was watching over his darling little nieces and nephews, I had to make a mid-night bathroom trip. So up the stairs I stumbled, in the dark, to the bathroom, which was a mile and half away. And it was snowing.

Except… this night, I encountered a rainbow wall in the hallway. It was tall. And scary. And I thought I must be dreaming. And I was afraid. And I touched it, and it was real. It WASN’T a dream! I tried to push it over… pushed with all my might! But it wouldn’t budge. (When you are 6 and scared and need to pee and it is dark, you don’t know how to push hard on imaginary REAL rainbow walls in your hallway.)

It was freaky.

So, in my bladder-bursting state I made my way back down the Grand Canyon and awoke my older sister. “Jess! Help! There is a wall in the hall. A real wall! And I can’t get to the bathroom!”

“Pee in the garbage can, and leave me alone!”

So I did.

And that was my third-favorite thing to do with the rainbow-colored foam blocks.

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