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Just Another Childhood Trauma

Sometimes I like to sit around and think about how my parents totally fucked me up. I just find it relaxing.

You know, on those cold fall days where I’m questioning my existence and wondering if my life is simply a series of failures – I quickly shift my focus to how my mom and dad made me the nut case that I am today. See… it’s all their fault.

My dad has a thing with death. It makes him REALLY uncomfortable. Probably from being raised Catholic. He just can’t deal with the thought of death because it is too painful. Perhaps it makes him think of the existential quandary of heaven and hell, and that we’re all going down because we’ve masturbated? I don’t know! I’m not in my dad’s head okay! (At least not any more… I only shot through there super fast on my way out of his balls). I digress!

So when I was about 8, my Dad and I went to our country house and came across 15 baby mice corpses. Now you can’t just leave carrion in your house – because the bodies will rot and begin to smell. My mom would NOT approve of decaying flesh polluting her home. We HAD to dispose of them. At least one of us did.

Sure my dad was the adult, and I was the child. One would assume he would swallow his fear, and deal with the DEAD BABY MICE rather than making his 8-year-old daughter do it. But you see – he didn’t want to pick up the small pink carcasses. Instead, my dad told me he would pay $20 for everyone I got rid of.

Now I am not saying I sold my innocence that day, but I am saying I bought a lot of She-Ra dolls after that weekend.

Because my dad was so traumatized by the idea of death, he never wanted me to have animals. Not because he didn’t like them, but he liked them too much! When I wanted to get a dog I had to leave a puddle of tears in my Dad’s office to convince him. He just stared at the wetness on his floor and finally acquiesced.

Once I had my dog Fiona, I wanted to get another pet. I loved pets! They were my friends!! So I got a hamster! Yayyyy! More furry things to love!!!!

But one night while I was sleeping in my bed, I heard all this commotion underneath me. I turned on the light and realized my hamster had somehow gotten out of the cage. I then looked under my bed where all the turmoil was coming from, and realized that Fiona was in fact killing my hamster.

I ran into my parents’ room.

Toni: Mom! Dad! Fiona is under the bed killing my hamster.
My Dad: Well, it’s all your fault. Deal with it.

Now, it was 4 in the morning… and no one likes to be woken up at 4 in the morning and then deal with a half eaten hamster.

I am not sure who ended up disposing of the body. I’m pretty sure it was my mom, because she is stronger than all of us. All I remember is sitting in my living room as the sun came up, holding my dog, and thinking I was to blame for the murder of my hamster.

But I love you dad!! It’s your birthday today, and your sensitive heart is as pure as gold. You also let me get a bird… and cried at her grave when she died!! It is the way of the Nagy’s to weep mercilessly and lament at all animal death and suffering.

(Me and Fiona)

toni and fiona

6 Responses to Just Another Childhood Trauma

  1. Laszlo Nagy says:

    Emotions run deep and thick in our family. I think honestly it is a function of genetics, and of our being the love-children of two daring people who fell in love even though their grandparents quite literally were in the business of conducting war against one another (well, one side to the other).
    As the brother, not altogether different to how I am now, I was the sort of head in the clouds lover of you all, enjoying each of you for all of your brilliance, heart, and reaching for the stars spirit.
    That sort of indomitable desire to help other people chase their dreams even if they should fall on their knees is one that I think still holds us all together.
    All of us with our varying shades of exhibitionism, of being able to deal but then not be able to deal with a bad hand, it is what makes us colorful and human. Color me now the human in the family still fearing a Robert Z Transhumanist event while simultaneously laughing at myself that I ever should have feared Monoliths just two days ago 😉

  2. Olga Davidson says:

    It’s a little more simple than that. You Dad seriously can’t deal with rodents, be they dead or alive. Laszlo had to dispose of all the rats that fated Thanksgiving because I was screaming too much. I too offered $$$$ for every dead rat he found but he refused the cash. Amazing Your Dad, however, avoided even coming home until they were all their little corpses were collected and sealed away in a trash bag. I also had to clean up every cat cult massacre this summer before your dad would even get out of bed. Your dad did, however, dispose of the hamster with compassion and dignity but of course he had to traumatise you by telling you were to blame. He really really can’t handle rodents. I think I will stop pointing out the occasional rat we see while walking home at night.

  3. Greg Nagy says:

    One other thing about traumatic deaths of pets… Do you remember Shah Khoshbin, the resident tutor who advised all students who were hoping to get into medical school? I called him when Emily the Guinea Pig (another one of your pets) died because the heating in Currier House malfunctioned in her room and she froze to death. Shah came with a stethoscope and applied it to Emily’s chest, even though she already showed all the signs of rigor mortis. Once Emily was pronounced dead, the three of us gave her a good Christian burial in the Currier House garden, and you muttered some prayers under your tears. Unforgettable bittersweet moments…

  4. Greg Nagy says:

    One more thing from Dad: though I don’t agree with his “conclusion”, here is a poem by the British poet Philip Larkin (1922-1985):
    “They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
    They may not mean to, but they do.
    They fill you with the faults they had
    And add some extra, just for you.

    But they were fucked up in their turn
    By fools in old-style hats and coats,
    Who half the time were soppy-stern
    And half at one another’s throats.

    Man hands on misery to man.
    It deepens like a coastal shelf.
    Get out as early as you can,
    And don’t have any kids yourself.”
    ― Philip Larkin

  5. Toni Bologna says:

    hahahahahahahahahahahahhahahhahahahahah DAD I totally forgot that!!! EMILY!!!!!!!!!!!! PS that poem is amazing.. and I hope you and mom both know that Karma is a bitch and I am sure The Munch is going to put me through the ringer!!! And Laszlo we will survive the transhumanist future with our hazel eyes to protect us!

  6. Laszlo Nagy says:

    And toward this protection, let me make this little observation. I think I may have figured out that the occult worries that we have at the moment are justified in the sense that there may be a bit to re-boot “American Exceptionalism” every thirty years. 1955, 1985, 2015 are the dates of the reboots. Mr. Ryan is trying to serve as some kind of Marty for this system. And so where does the problem lie? In this. Namely this would be a complete departure from the intentions of George Washington’s Farewell Address written in 1792 but delivered in 1796, which warns the United States against factionalism at home along North-South West-East lines.
    To my friends in the International Relations Theory Community, this observation can be made. The Economic co-dependence of Russia and China has obviously not prevented the latter from securing relations with Britain, the arch-nemesis of the former, thereby insuring that no belligerent hegemon is to exist in the Eurasian Landmass, so that therefore the United States can exist powerfully in its own sphere, a sphere that would have very much pleased George Washington.
    Our hazel eyes therefore need only to endure two weeks of Mr. Ryan’s attempt at a coup but our having avoided seeing him as Marty I think will make these two weeks that much easier.

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