Tammy Thingelstad

Mazie loves stories; I guess most people do.  She usually requests stories from when I was a kid.  It’s always interesting to try and remember way back when and it’s fun too, so Mazie frequently gets her wish.

She has a few favorites, like when I got knocked unconscious after sledding off a jump and landed on a parked car on Christmas Eve, or the time my friend and I were playing in the attic without my mom’s knowledge and my friend tripped coming out of the attic into my closet ceiling and broke her nose.  I thought she should just brush it off, clean up, and no one would ever know.  After all, we were supposed to have a sleep-over that night and I knew all of the blood would probably result in a cancellation.

There was the time I pooped in the swimming pool, because I was having so much fun and didn’t want to get out and ruin my good time.  Of course what I didn’t know then that I quickly found out was that poop doesn’t magically disappear like pee in a pool.  Instead the poop starts “swimming” all on its own, the pool is evacuated and has to be drained and cleaned.  Oops.  Another Mazie favorite is the time I pooped out the window of my upstairs bedroom because my parents were busying showing the house to potential buyers and they were all camped out in the bathroom and I really had to go.  Seriously, I don’t know what was wrong with me; I was a gross kid.

There are lots and lots of stories and they generally break down into two categories, painful things or embarrassing things.  Mazie doesn’t seem to have a preference for either type of story, she’s happy to revel in either my past embarrassment or pain.

The Michael Vorlicek story is one of the exceptions to this rule.  Michael Vorlicek was the first boy I ever “went” with.  We were both fourth graders at Forest Hills Elementary School.  A friend of mine approached me at recess one day and asked if I wanted to “go” with Michael.  Not knowing who he was, I wasn’t sure.  I asked some of my friends and they were all of the opinion that accepting Michael’s invitation was a good idea.  So I told my friend yes, she told Michael’s friend yes, Michael’s friend told Michael yes, and viola a romance was born.

I’m not sure how long we stayed together, but I’m guessing it was a brief affair.  Michael was nothing if not a gentleman.  He showered me with gifts.  His friends bestowed a massive heap of gum packs on me one day at lunch and I quickly became very popular.  His friends also brought me a large Valentine’s heart filled with chocolates on Valentine’s Day and a gold-colored necklace with three stars.  Michael was a generous guy, even if we never talked or looked at one another.  Such is the guise of fourth grade love.

I’m not sure what went wrong with our love tryst, but one day it fell apart.  In what I remember as our only face-to-face exchange, I said something rude, ripped the necklace off my neck, and handed it stiffly back to Michael.  Who knows, maybe he dumped me and started showering some other girl with goodies.  I just don’t remember.

What I do remember is that name, Michael Vorlicek.  It’s seared into my brain.  It’s on instant recall.  Sometimes I forget the name of a neighbor or an acquaintance, but I’m always on the ready with Michael Vorlicek.