Cookie Monster

My earliest childhood memory is running away from my mom.

Not in the sense that I threw on my favorite pair of nike runners and actually ran away (that’s for another story), no I mean because she snored.

Like …

Earth shakingly loud. 

I was 4 or 5 and we lived with my grandmother and grandfather aka Mom-Mom and Pop-Pop.

I LOVED my Pop-Pop.

I remember him smiling a lot and mowing the grass. Their house had about 10 acres that had to be kept up and more often than not, he was outside with his huge sunhat on riding a lawn mower. Now that I’m almost his age I kinda get why he enjoyed it so much and it was probably quite meditative for him. Pop-Pop had the bushiest eyebrows and when he wasn’t riding his lawn mower he was tinkering with his Harley. I can hear the sound of a Harley Davidson bike from miles away and know it’s a Harley because of Pop-Pop. He raced them in his younger years and was even part of Philly’s first black Harley Davidson Bike Club. For me, Pop-Pop was a savior. Since my dad had died when my mom was pregnant with me, Pop-Pop gave me the male energy I needed. He called me his Cookie Monster and would hide cookies in his bedroom for me. 

We lived in the refinished basement of my grandparents home after my father died. It was the coolest basement with a bar, my grandfather’s vinyl collection and, what to me, was a disco floor -because it was black with little splashes of color all over it.

My mom and I slept down there together and she was constantly trying to pull me in there for “nap time” but it was because she wanted to sleep, not me. Her mental illness/depression was really bad after my father died and sleep became her best friend.

So I’d lay there with her waiting for the dreaded rhythm of her snoring. I’d play with my Happy doll. Happy was this clown that, I guess, my mom got for me and I went everywhere with him. He was shaped like an avocado with a pointy head which I also used to chew on when, I assume, anxiety first entered my life. He also had a bell inside of him, but it was broken because my mom accidentally rolled over and slept on him. To say I was devastated was an understatement. 

Anyway, I’d play with Happy until I knew my mom was asleep and then? I’d run up the steps ...

through the kitchen ...

across the dining room ...

down the hall …

and into Pop-Pop’s room.

Usually just as I was reaching his room I’d hear my mom yelling for me “JJJOOOOOONNNNNEEEEENNNNNEEEEE GET BACK DOWN HERE!” because my footsteps running on the above floor would wake her up.

I never went back down for the nap. Instead I’d sit with Pop-Pop giggling and eating cookies.

And to this day I cannot sleep in the same room with someone who snores. When I met Marc he told me that a woman had broken up with him because he snored so loud. 

Clearly, Marc and I have to sleep in separate rooms and I've never slept so well.