The Acorn & The Bead
When my sister was roughly two years old, she stuck a small acorn up her nose. She then tried to communicate this to my parents (probably by saying the word "acorn" and pointing to her nose) but it seems they didn't grasp what she was trying to say. Even though she repeatedly tried to tell them about what had happened (and tried to get it out herself to no avail), the acorn lay dormant up her nose for three days. The story goes that on day 3, a trickle of blood came out of her nose and it was then that the parental units realized what had happened and rushed her to the doctor (who successfully pried it out).
Many years later, when I was about four years old, I stuck a shiny plastic bead up my nose. In my recollection of this event, my good friend Harron gave me a bead to hold at nursery school while he went to the bathroom (I guess it was some sort of special bead). As he walked away, for no explicable reason, I shoved the bead up my nose. My sister claims that I had been told the acorn story as a warning, the moral being "don't stick things up your nose." Alas, as an apparently stubborn toddler, I chose not to head this warning. And when I told my teacher, and my teacher called my parents, they believed me right away. And I have a clear memory of going to the doctor and the doctor pulling the (now not so special bead) out with pliers.
Both of these events came up in a phone conversation with my Mom last night - though right now I cannot remember why or how we started talking about it. As we started to reminisce, I quizzed my Mom to see if she could match the daughter with the object. And she guessed incorrectly that I was the acorn offender! And later when I told on her to my sister, we realized that the offending items actually were quite symbolic. You see, my sister is much more outdoors-y and nature-y (acorn), whereas I'm more of the "arts" (bead) so our selections were quite prescient to our futures.
I'd also be remiss (according to my sister) if I didn't mention the obvious fact that my act of sticking something up my nose was, in essence, a true copycat crime. Perhaps even THE copycat crime of the 20th century. The acorn begat the bead. Obviously, I just wanted to be like my older sister. And in the absence of acorns of any size, I chose from the materials in my reach. Unfortunately for Harron, that meant his bead. I would argue though that in addition to wanting to be like my sister, a copycat if you will, I also simply had the tendency to do exactly what I was told not to do (please see the incident of '89 when my Grandma Ettie gave me a sucking candy and said "don't swallow this whole" and I did so as soon as I put it into my mouth and it took eating almost 1/2 a challah bread to get it dislodged). So when my family recounted the acorn story to me when I was little, the wheels were probably already turning, I was just waiting for the perfect moment and a size-appropriate object.
I guess what we, the Wittenberg/Goldbergs, can learn from this story is that we really should've examined further the meaning behind the choice of the acorn and the bead. For we could've known then what we know now: Lauren likes to hike, Susan likes to see movies. But my parents, probably due to pride and joy, instead focused on the common bond between their two little girls - that they both stuck things up their noses. And how can you blame them.
Many years later, when I was about four years old, I stuck a shiny plastic bead up my nose. In my recollection of this event, my good friend Harron gave me a bead to hold at nursery school while he went to the bathroom (I guess it was some sort of special bead). As he walked away, for no explicable reason, I shoved the bead up my nose. My sister claims that I had been told the acorn story as a warning, the moral being "don't stick things up your nose." Alas, as an apparently stubborn toddler, I chose not to head this warning. And when I told my teacher, and my teacher called my parents, they believed me right away. And I have a clear memory of going to the doctor and the doctor pulling the (now not so special bead) out with pliers.
Both of these events came up in a phone conversation with my Mom last night - though right now I cannot remember why or how we started talking about it. As we started to reminisce, I quizzed my Mom to see if she could match the daughter with the object. And she guessed incorrectly that I was the acorn offender! And later when I told on her to my sister, we realized that the offending items actually were quite symbolic. You see, my sister is much more outdoors-y and nature-y (acorn), whereas I'm more of the "arts" (bead) so our selections were quite prescient to our futures.
I'd also be remiss (according to my sister) if I didn't mention the obvious fact that my act of sticking something up my nose was, in essence, a true copycat crime. Perhaps even THE copycat crime of the 20th century. The acorn begat the bead. Obviously, I just wanted to be like my older sister. And in the absence of acorns of any size, I chose from the materials in my reach. Unfortunately for Harron, that meant his bead. I would argue though that in addition to wanting to be like my sister, a copycat if you will, I also simply had the tendency to do exactly what I was told not to do (please see the incident of '89 when my Grandma Ettie gave me a sucking candy and said "don't swallow this whole" and I did so as soon as I put it into my mouth and it took eating almost 1/2 a challah bread to get it dislodged). So when my family recounted the acorn story to me when I was little, the wheels were probably already turning, I was just waiting for the perfect moment and a size-appropriate object.
I guess what we, the Wittenberg/Goldbergs, can learn from this story is that we really should've examined further the meaning behind the choice of the acorn and the bead. For we could've known then what we know now: Lauren likes to hike, Susan likes to see movies. But my parents, probably due to pride and joy, instead focused on the common bond between their two little girls - that they both stuck things up their noses. And how can you blame them.
posted by Susan Goldberg at 4:16 PM
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