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![John Shore on The Huffington Post](http://johnshore.files.wordpress.com/2010/03/huffpost.jpg?w=120 "John Shore on The Huffington Post\")
{ 27 comments… read them below or add one }
My earliest memory is of a giant shiny black shoe, about the size of a limousine, and a kind of non-verbal memory “that’s dad”. I think I must have been lying on my stomach on the floor. I expect I could raise my head, since our first child could do this at birth while they washed her off.
“Nazi troglodyte,” LOL pretty good vocabulary for a little leaguer.
Hey, wear that sweater, John. Seriously. Ignore the stats. People don’t donate to the rich. They donate to those who’ve been screwed by life. The fact that you write about people who suffer from the incrediblly hypocritical disdain and contempt of self-described Christians is fitting. You go, boy.
I thank God that you write about me (a gay Christian) and the One who I know loves me!
Boy, this installment was a real fail – nothing about gays, nothing about Christianity…..
was there something in the water, to produce *two* XXLarge-headed guys in the same neighborhood?
i should talk though, i can’t get women-hats to fit me. and i’m not even funny in writing to balance it out (although apparently i’m hilarious in person).
Honestly, until gay people are granted full moral equality by the vast majority of Christians (because a certain number of angry nutjobs will always be with us), I’d be content to write about nothing else. If I did, in fact, do that, I wouldn’t be EFFECTIVE at it, because no one listens to an alarm that never stops ringing, but … well. I’m babbling. Sorry.
(I have about 1,200 posts on my blog. About 15% of them are about LGBT folk and Christianity.)
That’s ok. Bryan Fischer never talks about anything but gay people and Christianity either.
My earliest memory is trying to escape from Sunday School by hiding under the coffee table. I think I ought to have your tagline.
One of my earliest memories…. I was about 4…..I still had a bottle….Fred Flintstone to be exact. I don't remember where we were exactly, but we were looking at some horses, petting them, feeding them, etc.
I thought one of the horses looked thristy. I offered him my Fred Flintstone bottle. He ate it. I was traumatized.
Greatest blog comment ever.
You know they say the earlier the cognitive memory, the more intelligent the person….
That may just make you as smart as Marylin vos Savant.
No wonder your mom went AWOL… After a natural birth to a baby with an unnaturally large head, she must have been bitter, bitter, bitter.
My earliest memory is of my younger brother pulling the cord all the way out on my Chatty Cathy and swinging her around and around and then letting go as I watched her, horrified, sail through the air where she landed on my parents' roof next to the TV antenna. Years later, my dad found her there, lying next to my little sister's Pinky Bear.
i had to look up troglodyte.
But seriously, aside from picking on "Kim" in fun….
I do remember being a TODDLER getting out of a CRIB made of wood, a large one, that rocked, and later on, became a toy box for me when I graduated to a bed, for a while.
I remember opening my eyes, seeing the sunshine come in through the window, climbing out, in my jammies with the built-in foot booties, slowly toddling down the stairs, and mama greeting me very happy and warm, all ready with breakfast.
I also remember getting out of my father's 1957 Chevy in 1959, the layout of the speedometer and dashboard, being in the rear seat behind father, going into the house "on the river" as my family called it, to visit my Aunt Phyllis, and the layout of that house.
I told my parents this, way back when they were still alive, and they were astounded. Said I couldn't have been more than 2 years old at the time, and everything I said, about the house layout, and all, was correct.
Absolute gold, John. Another post from the BIG GIANT HEAD!!!
I had (and still have) a dinky pin-head. I stopped wearing caps when I hit fifty. I just couldn't pull it off anymore…especially when caps made for middle schoolers were the only ones I didn't have to adjust to the smallest size—creating that big-ass rediculous lump of unused cap jutting off the back of my head. Of course a tiny head had it's advantages. I was climbing out of my crib when I was 11 months old. And yes, I can also remember that far back.
btw – the woman in this picture is smiling because this is the only exhibit on planet Earth she can stand next to that makes her look skinny.
Hey! I'm fat, and I wouldn't be laughing because I stood next to something that "made" me look skinny.
Nor would I make fun of skinny people.
Snarf!
Keep it up, Kim. I'll send my poodle, Miss FiFi, Her Royal Poodleness, She Who Must Be Obeyed (here), and Reigns Supreme (here), all 12-pounds of her, over, and she'll bite you to pieces for picking on fat people like her Doggie Daddy!!!
(Fetch, FiFi! Fetch! Get her, girl! Go!)
I'm sorry, Robert Meek…I agree, it was off-color and if I could figure out how to DELETE comments that I later regretted on these dang blogs I would!
I'll do better, I promise.
"He was a good guy to hang out with. Especially wrhen you needed some shade." Freakin' hilarious!
When I was a baby it was my lips everyone stared at. "Mick Jagger" was the kinder of the names I was called throughout my childhood; the worst was one that would have a child accused of a hate crime, suspended from school, and forced to undergo a psych eval with counseling afterward. It hurt, but today I am laughing at all those nasty gals who tormented me. The ones forking over cash for collagen injections. Ha!
My first memory is of being trapped in a playpen. My older brother was leaning over the side, holding a squeakable Winnie-the-Pooh toy right next to my ear and repeatedly squeezing it while I shrieked. I blame him for my hearing loss in that ear 29 years later. It took a while but he got the job done in the end.
The earliest thing I remember is standing next to a kennel of yapping, jumping dogs. I thought they wanted to eat me. But I wouldn't move away from the kennel.
I was a strange child.
I laughed my butt off at the coach's dialog. I picture him with a cigar and a New Jersey accent. Funny stuff, John.
Good heavens! You remember being in a crib?
I remember being put in a crib when I was six years old a child care center once. My parents told them I wet the bed. So, to teach me a lesson for behaving like a baby i was made to stay in a crib.
I guess my head was too big then too.
Mean. I had a similarly abusive childcare provider when I was nine. Mostly, I was left alone because I was older and I think the daycare provider knew that if she ever pulled those kinds of stunts on me, my mother would rip her up one side and down the other. But I got to watch her pull that kind of crap on the other kids who were younger and whose parents were in more dire straits than mine. Horrible woman. And that's the kindest thing I can say about her and be honest.