When I was five my grandpa Brock died.
And since my parents were hauling us all to southern Callifornia for a funeral anyway, I guess they decided to make big deal out of it. Disneyland, Knotts Berry Farm, and Sea World.
And it was at Sea World that an employee at the Shamu show came and asked if I would like to participate in the show. At the appropriate time I walked onto the stage and stood, in five year old terror in front of the entire crowd.
There was a walrus, big and fat, right next to me. The lady informed the audience of his biological importance and he did some tricks. I stood frozen like a statue, waiting and wondering what I was supposed to be doing. And then the walrus, taller than me with bristly whiskers and fish breath, leaned over and kissed me.
And I burst into tears and walked off the stage to my waiting parents.
That’s all I remember about that trip to Sea World. Maybe we’ll go this summer and see if we can get Olivia in on the Shamu show.
I’m going to try and write down memories I have – for my little lovelies who always ask “Tell me a story of when you were a kid . . .”
I’m going to call them “Tales for Tuesdays” – and will try to write one a week . . . unless of course something else happens. In which case I won’t.