Memories

I have a few memories that I feel ashamed of myself for my behavior. I shall document these...

Arriving home at about 6pm on a typical evening after middle school sporting practice of some sort, I found myself alone at home. This wasn't unusual because my mom often worked late and my sister worked the night shift from 7pm to 7am at a neighborhood diner. Settling in and waiting for my mom to get home, I turned the TV on to watch the Simpsons. Nothing but static. I was no stranger to static because my household never indulged in the fine reception offered by cable TV. I was used to the necessary finagling with the antennae to receive maximum sharpness of image. So I climbed behind the entertainment center, that my family affectionately called the ET, and began jigging with the antennae wire input behind the TV. Nothing. Then rotated, readjusted, and repositioned the aerial itself to try to fix the reception. Nothing. I started to get real pissed. WHY WONT YOU WORK? Nothing was going right. My pre-teen angst began to boil to the surface, my emotions began to suffocate me, my tears surfaced and I began slamming my fist on the top of the TV.

I backed away convinced that the TV and I needed some time apart. I unplugged the disobedient appliance, took a few breaths, and recomposed myself because I was close to exploding. I plugged the TV back in and turned it on. There was static on all channels still but now Channel 2 (or CBS to the laymen) began to show snowy images of emergency vehicles, chaos and the World Trade Center. Then a news reporter stated that much of the broadcasting for the Greater New York area is interrupted due to the bombing in the basement of the Center. Most of the local networks transmitted their feed through antennae perched high above the city conveniently located on the Twin Towers. I swallowed my rage for an uncooperative television and instantly appreciated the triviality of my inconvenience.