The second thing that popped into my mind was angel food cake. I swear my mother bought one every week. Once again, it didn't last long, maybe the first four months or so but not much more than that. The third was Camp Ho Mita Koda, the camp in Ohio for kids with diabetes. After that, very little comes to mind. I considered why I had no other profound memories to include. It really started to bother me since three little ideas didn't leave a lot for writing. One can only write so much about spongy cake.
A few days ago, it dawned on me that this was my mother's fault. I've had so little to blame her for other than my oddness which came from seeing the Amityville Horror at the theater when I was six because she couldn't get a babysitter. Anyway, I called her and told her my lack of memory was not because I have two small boys sucking the energy from my brain but because of her. Needless to say, she denied it before I could explain.
You see, I had a rather uneventful childhood that was, apparently, her fault. I remember the movie and being totally convinced our house was haunted and the rocking chair moving by itself for years. I can clearly recall leaving crayons, markers and gum in my pockets for her to wash, playing softball, packing my own lunches in high school, high school football games, and jobs. The list was endless but it all seemed so normal.
How in the world could I have such an apparently 'normal' childhood when I dealt with a very serious disease on a daily basis? Late one evening I figured it out. My mother had taught me what I needed to know and then turned my care over to me. Now granted, I don't advise this with a very young child, but at the time I was thirteen. I knew what I could eat and what I couldn't, knew the signs of hyperglycemic and hypoglycemic reactions as did my friends, their parents and my teachers. I knew the complications that could develop and the time frame they would arise if I didn't take care of myself.
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