My family people have been posting funny childhood stories on their blogs and so I thought I would, too. But then ... I can't think of any. I am coming to think that I must have been a pretty serious minded child. I do remember laughing and being goofy, but life seemed pretty important, too.
I know there were funny things. If my mom or sister tells a funny story, I can remember it, but they don't seem to come to mind otherwise.
What does come to mind is:
My friend's brother stepping on a nail. That terrified me for some reason.
The house up the street being struck by lightening.
A man showing up at our front door, (no one ever used the front door) with our dead dog in his arms. He had run over him because he, the dog, chased cars.
Our pony's foal dying.
Me busting my shoulder up.
Some vicious creature killing my rabbit.
A girl down the street being hit by a car.
Once trying to take my pony over a little jump, about a foot high, she decided at the very last minute to go to the left, while I kept going straight. Well, that's kinda funny, actually.
Once my cousin, Queen, was holding her son and talking to him about our pony. She was pointing at the pony while looking at her son. Fingers might look like carrots to a pony. She latched right onto my cousin's finger. That was funny.
The pony deciding to take a good roll in the dirt -- with my sister on her back. Ha. That one's funny too. I especially remember how stomping mad Julie was.
The truth is, whatever funny thing I do eventually remember will probably involve someone somewhere getting hurt. I am beginning to think that maybe I used to be a little bit mean.
Maybe that is enough reminiscing for now. I'll get back to you when I remember the funny stuff.