When I was 8, we went to Korea. Back in those days, the flight took 22 hours, cowabunga, so the jet lag back was mega killer, or at least it seemed so to me. At dinner, my head kept flinging down to the ground, gravity pulling down on a bowling ball sort of thing. I remember having dinner at home with my folks and uncle (my emo and cousins Ed and Aimee were still in Seoul). My uncle was being so sweet, offering to take us out to Chinese so I could order Pu Pu Platter (my favorite, on account of the variety and fire) and then out to Fox and the Hound. Way to tempt a third-grader. I was so thrilled, trying to rally, but all that head-flailing just led to an early bedtime. I felt so guilty, like I was letting my uncle down. I figured he had been lonely with all of us gone and wanted to go out.
This month I realized, what grown man wants to see a cartoon movie? (I mean, from the older generation). He was probably just trying to help me out, proposing an exciting night so I’d stay awake and get over jet lag faster. Duh. I just let go of some of the guilt. Yes. We’re all healing.