Memory Time

I've been reading excerpts from a book I should probably buy. Though I'm sure reading it in its entirety will cause many breakdowns and tears. And I'm reminded of a memory from my childhood.

I used to bring my lunch to school. Because I found the school lunch to be generally unappetizing, and I wouldn't eat it. Every morning my mother would make my lunch. And every afternoon, she'd remind me to clean out my lunch container so she could use it the next day. This didn't generally go as smoothly as it sounds.

"Go get your lunch bucket."

"I can't." It wasn't a bucket at all. It was a bag. (Later years, it was a box.)

"Yes, you can. Go get it and clean it out."

"But I can't..." Buckets were hard and round, and had open tops and handles. And were used for things like fishing, and cleaning, and playing in the sand. Things that weren't taking my lunch to school. Who takes their lunch to school in a bucket?

"Why can't you?"

"It's not a bucket."

"You know what I meant." Then why not say what you meant? Instead of calling it a lunch bucket, which is something I clearly didn't have.

"But that's not what you said."

"Fine. Go clean out your lunch bag."

"...Okay."

This sort of exchange wasn't at all unusual. And the thoughts still aren't, though I've gotten better at understanding what people mean. Or at least I think so. I must have, since I question whether that lack of understanding is real. Maybe it just manifests itself in more complicated ways. "I can't put it away. It doesn't have a place."

Maybe I haven't changed.