The F-Word

I: F-Reak

Chapter I: F-Reak

   Well, I guess that's one way to start things off.

   Not that its's any less truthful.

   Let's begin with a little introduction. The Hendersons — which is my family — is your typical small family living in a suburban area full of irritating stereotypes. Nice place. It's almost like something straight out of a movie. Neat whitewashed houses, picket-fence lined backyards and gravel stone driveways.

   The only thing(s) different in each household was the type of cars parked outside along the driveway, choice of garden decorations, the color of the walls, etcetera etcetera. All our neighbours owned at least one family pet. Well, everyone except for the Hendersons.

   Thank you, oh holy god of allergies, for blessing my father with ultra-sensitivity of pet hair.

   Mom and Dad bought our house when they were expecting their first child, which happened to be me. And from what I've heard, they were one of the first few naïve people to purchase a house in the still under-development area, since my neighbourhood wasn't fully constructed and populated until I was about three. Pretty stupid decision, if you ask me.

   I mean, hello? What if they happened to be building the neighbourhood over some ancient Indian burial ground or something? Getting possessed by an angry and restless spirit was definitely not on my bucket list. If I had one, that is. Thinking back on the incident, I can't help but imagine this conversation happening.

Dad: Honey, take a look at this place!

Mom: *gasps* Are you seeing what I'm seeing?

Dad: Yes! An affordable house right in the middle of nowhere! And look! We have a family of raccoons as neighbours!

Mom: I heard that they will be building a mall here too! It is the perfect place to raise our little girl!

Dad: And even if things don't work out here, we still have the raccoons.

Mom: Let's buy it!

Dad: Definitely!

   Yeah... If around one percent of that conversation did happen before, then I can deduce that they aren't exactly the sharpest crayons in the box at times. They did end up buying the house, though. A few months later, I came along. I think that it was the happiest moment of my parents's lifes. For now.

   You see, Mom grew up in a pretty large family along with seven brothers. Seven. She was very tomboyish, cut her blonde hair short like a boy who just recovered from a lice infestation and happily played around in mud all day. Almost everyone who met her thought she was a boy at first.

   It wasn't until she hit puberty that she decided to at least look like a girl. I don't exactly know what made her do that. Maybe she accidentally came across a copy of Vogue with Cindy Crawford on the cover and actually became interested in feminism. Maybe she watched some 80's chick-flicks and started to like it.

   Whatever it was, Mom decided that her tomboy days were numbered and started growing out her hair and wearing blouses and skirts. I can't believe I'm saying this, but she looked really beautiful. Like, Scarlett Johansson beautiful. Which is quite something.

   The other boys in her high school must have noticed the sudden change too, because the very next day love letters came flooding out of her locker by the hundreds.

   Living eyewitnesses (a.k.a. my mother) described it as a landslide of paper. She became the envy of every other girl in school and the dream bride of every guy. And guess what? Mom turned them all down. For what reason you may ask?