As a child, I remember wondering, “When will I turn from a goofy cygnet into a serene and powerful swan?” The answer to that question has arrived: never. It is not going to happen.
We ran out of concord grape jelly for the orioles, so while Michael mowed the lawn, I walked over to the grocery store to pick some up. I’ve got two jars of jelly in my left hand and a bag of onions in my right hand when I happen to notice a member of the Canadian Armed Forces in uniform a little bit further down the aisle from me.
I grew up around a lot of military, who impressed upon me as a child that covers (hats) are off when indoors, and here I am, standing there in a baseball cap in the grocery store. I once wanted to write a stage play that featured a group of CAF officers being moved repeatedly through a series of exterior doorways, covers coming off and on with perfect precision in a Benny Hills hallway chase comedy style.
Panic sets in, and my brain and my body start fighting for control of my limbs. My right hand tries to surreptitiously sweep the cap off my head, but is hampered by the bag of onions. The cap tumbles off, and I try to nab it with my left arm, which is cradling two jars of jelly, producing a clanking sound as I awkwardly pin the hat between the jars and my body. My right hand was less successful in its mission, having lost control of the bag of onions during the hat sweep maneuver. The bag plunges towards the floor. Inspired by watching too much FIFA football in the last few weeks, I try to catch the bag on top of my right foot like a hacky sack. It doesn’t work, because I am not a creature of grace and coordination. I am my mother’s first attempt at assembling a human being, and not all of me can perform under pressure. The bag of onions skitters across the floor to the soldier, who probably hadn’t noticed me and my hat situation before, but now I was coming into full view. He leaned over, picked up the bag and handed it to me.
As usual, I failed to turn invisible and disappear off the face of the planet in my embarrassment.
No, I am never going to turn into a swan. It’s goofy cygnet from cradle to grave for me.