Death Bed Memories & Filthy Popcorn

There are many moments in life that stick with me. Nearly all of them involved at least one child and extreme anxiety. I suppose it's the anxiety that imprints the memory. So this morning when my wife asked what I was writing today, I blanked out, couldn't think of a thing. She suggested I write whatever came to mind. The large tin of flavored pop-corn triggered an old and very well imprinted memory.

The incident occurred in the dinosaur exhibit. It's a round, depression-era building featuring an animated robotic veloceraptor display in the center. The walls all around had educational kiosks and various displays. A low, glass wall served as a divider between the displays and visitors. It was this low, glass wall, about four feet high, that caused my memory imprinting anxiety that day.

While I was looking at the animated, screeching raptor do its thing, Emily slipped between and lay down on the filthy floor of the 9 inch space between the glass divider wall and a display. We were in a zoo for God's sake, couldn't be all that clean down there. "Emma, come here!" I demanded, drawing the attention of a crowd of giggling on-lookers. Emma ignored me as tried to reach over the glass partition to pull her up. Emma lay flatter to the ground, just out of my reach. The gathering crowd was laughing at frantic dad and the super flat emotionless Emma. I stretched hard as Emma lay flatter. More laughter erupted then suddenly turned to gasps as the color left my face and Emma obviously began eying a popcorn strewn on the floor. "NO Emma, DO NOT..." Emma reached out for a kernel, women gasped, teenagers laughed, others held their breath, the crowd around us swelled. Emma pulled the kernel close to her mouth. "NO, NO Emma do not put that in your mouth!" Emma hesitated then moved the popcorn closer to her mouth staring directly at me as she did. "I swear Emma if you.." closer the popcorn came to an open Emma mouth. "EMMA...!" Another hesitation and and a quick toss to the mouth. "AAARGGG!!!!" was the only sound I could and was appropriate to make. The crowd went mad from other "Aaarrgs" to outright laughter. I fell to the floor on my knees to get eye level with her and pleaded with her to stop. I tapped hard at the glass. Emma just stared back, determined, chewing. I reached even further over the partition, bordering on falling-in and managed to grasp a bit of her curly hair. I twisted the few strands I had until a two-finger grip was achieved and pull Emma, now on her third kernel, up just enough to get a grip on her collar and hoist her above the partition.

It's been 17 years since that incident. The dinosaur exhibit has long since closed . But, to this day, I can't think of anything else when I see or smell popcorn. Emma has ruined popcorn for me. And so, in my will and last testament, I've requested popcorn be served at my funeral 'cause I want Emma to experience her children eating popcorn from the floor of a funeral home.