All Jacked Up

I was helping my parents pack this weekend for their big move, and I came across some interesting items I will hopefully blog about in the near future. I wanted to quickly note, though, that according to my baby book, today is the 30th anniversary of when my mother and I were carjacked at knifepoint.

I don't remember it very well; I just remember a man with a giant knife appearing at the driver's side window in broad daylight and saying, "Get the baby, and get out of the car." I also remember thinking, "I'm not a baby. I'm 2 and a half." What I don't remember is the asshole getting into the car, pushing my mother to the passenger side, driving us through the parking lot, and stealing her engagement ring. A week or so later, they found the car abandoned in the parking lot (I guess Chevy station wagons are not popular amongst knife-wielding maniacs?) but never recovered my mother's ring. According to the baby book entry, I said that a "bad man" robbed the car. I seriously can't remember being all that upset by it, and I don't think it affected me as a person. (Yes, I'm a neurotic mess, but it probably didn't come from this incident, whose scope I did not understand at the time.) My mother, on the other hand. . . well, just don't sneak up to her driver's side window with a spatula, let alone a knife. It left her a little jumpy.

EDIT: My mother informs me that some of the details in this story are wrong. For example, he originally asked for cash, and my mother didn't have much, so she offered him a check (Made out to who? Knife-wielding maniac?). When he declined, she offered up her ring. In my defense, I was 2 and a half at the time and the memory is a little fuzzy. Dang. Now Oprah's going to feel like I pulled a James Frey.

Also, 30 years ago last Friday I fell on some glass outside my sister's gymnastics class and needed five stitches in my hand. Man, that weekend just SUCKED.

Also, on July 3, I will be celebrating the 30th anniversary of my first bowel movement in the potty.

1979 was a helluva year, folks.