A Kid Learning About Putting Your Foot in Your Mouth

Everyone learns about the dangers of "putting your foot in your mouth." I learned about "putting your foot in your mouth" around the age of ten, and I learned that it can almost be sensed. Instinct can almost warn you of its coming. But not quite.

Every time my father took his three sons on a vacation, his youngest son, my little brother Jack, would get car sick. Jack would roll the window down and vomit, upchuck, throw up, blow chunks.

A new trip was planned. We were going to Colorado! And I started up on Jack. "Jack, I don't want you throwing up in the car. You are going to have to get your mind and your body in sync. I am tired of your rollin' that window down and spewin' yer lunch all over the back o' the car. One time some o' yer vomit travelled around the back windshield and came into my window. Now I have to roll my window up when you roll yours down, and I have to listen to that vomiting sound and smell that stink and I'm tired of it. You are going to have to git yourself under control. It's all in your mind. You have to start thinking of the car's motions as soothing. You're jus' gonna have to control yourself and I don't wanna see you sprayin' out the window all over the highway. It's ridiculous for this to happen every time we go on a gall-durned vacation. This car sickness is in your mind! Your little bitty mind. Your stupid little mind. You gotta git control! Do like I do. Git control of your life, of your stomach, of your insides. Keep it down! Don't let it come back up. I'm tired of your gettin' car sick every time we head out for a good time in the car. Are you plannin' on sprayin' all over Colorado, fer cryin' out loud? What's the matter with you? You gotta quit gettin' car sink and vomiting all over the place and blah blah blah blah blah."

I went on and on and on for weeks before the trip. I should have felt it coming.

We traveled to Colorado. Dad bought some peaches. I ate one. The flavor of that peach started repeating. Soon I sensed what was going to happen. I fought it. I fought it with all of my heart. I fought it with all my mind and with all my my strength. But that peach came back. I rolled my window down and blew peach chunks all over Highway 285 and the back o' my Dad's '55 Chevy. When I was finished, I rolled the window back up and glanced over at little Jack. He never said a word. He just had a most satisfying grin on his face. And he never threw up that whole trip.