There I stood, as a ninth grader, eagerly awaiting the start of the high school homecoming parade. I had been looking forward to the day for weeks. My best friend and I were to walk through the streets carrying the banner in front of the ninth grade float. The whole class had worked tirelessly on it. We considered the float to be a “work of art.” It consisted of a pair of enormous hands holding a giant foot. The words on our banner explained the “float of extremities” with the words, “Hand Them De-Feet.” Clever, huh? The floats were lined up in place on the hill behind the high school. The football field lay just below us. The band began to play signaling the start of the procession, as delightful anticipation permeated the air. We knew we were on the precipice of creating a lovely long-lasting memory to file away in our minds forever and ever. Or so we thought…
Have you ever had a moment when your eyes could barely absorb and process what you were visually seeing? You feel like you are in another dimension as the surreal world spins around you in snail-like fashion. Your brain has to catch up with what your eyes have just witnessed to be able to have some fathom of processing what you’re observing. It’s a s…l…o…w process from “Brain Paralysis” to the “Brain Reality” of accepting that “IT REALLY WAS WHAT IT WAS!”
Back to the parade…So…I glanced back at our float briefly in delightful anticipation of prancing through the streets. However, I was instantly struck by “Brain Paralysis,” as I noticed that our lovely float of extremities was rolling backwards down the hill. Apparently, the eighth grade float had come unhooked from the tractor and was swirling, spiraling out of control and finally crashed into the football field below. Hand-Them De-Feet was Dead-On Arrival. My brain went from brain paralysis to brain reality!
A few years later, my sister and I came home from school to discover seven cows and one bull grazing in the backyard of our residential neighborhood. Brain paralysis set in once again for both of us. Since our quiet neighborhood was typically cow-less, we knew emergency action needed to be taken. But who do you call when cows are grazing by your swing set? My mother decided to call the police—logical enough, I suppose?? The policeman said, “Oh, I bet they’re Farmer Brown’s cows on the loose again. We’ll get him to send a truck on over and pick them up.”
A few moments later, my mother spotted a brown truck barreling up the road and she ran outside yelling at the truck, “Your cows are here! Your cows are in my backyard!” However, the truck kept going and the man looked at my mother like she had lost her mind. It seems Farmer Brown was actually the UPS man. She must have thought UPS stood for Udder Pick-Up-Service. (couldn’t resist throwing that in..but don’t let the visual paralyze your brain!)
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