How fondly do you remember the bad days?
When our daughter was little she begged my husband for a snow cone at the state fair. “It’s flavored ice,” he told me in protest. “And they want how much for it?”
I wasn’t proposing we feed her only snow cones from here on out -- but they were calling to me, too. We went back and forth about it for a while, and (you guessed it) Katie got her snow cone.
She was little, but she was old enough to be exasperated by the deliberations. She took the much-lobbied-for snow cone, looked at Darrell, and dumped it on the ground. I say “dumped it” now, but I wouldn’t have said it then. It was an accident. It had to have been. She wasn’t old enough to give someone the proverbial finger.
Or was she?
I defended her for years. Darrell was sure she’d done this on purpose. I was sure she hadn’t.
One day we got to talking about it with Kate. And guess what? She had done it on purpose.
You’re kidding.
As bad days go, this one took the cake and the cotton candy and the snow cone. It’s also the day we laugh about the most. That flavored ice was a bargain. Nothing else comes close.
The worst times often make the best memories. It’s only logical, I suppose. Do you howl with laughter during the movie when the heroine, in her beautiful evening gown, gracefully descends the staircase? No. Much more entertaining when her heel catches on something and she takes a tumble over the railing, falling headfirst into the punchbowl.
Here’s one secret to life. Shorten the time between having a really bad day and knowing you’ll have a really good story.