Carrot Seeds

“I watered it, I pulled the weeds~
Carrots grow from carrot seeds.”

Growing up, I didn’t realize how ahead of their time my parents truly were. My dad had figured out a way to hardwire our bedrooms with speakers that ran to the tape player in the cabinet in the living room.

Mom would record all the children’s specials on teevee, leaving room at the beginning of the tape for her to record our standard bedtime prayer. Each night, we’d be tucked into bed (my two sisters and I in one bedroom, my brother in a room of his own…lucky bastard) and Mom would hit “play” on that evening’s selection. She’d listen as the four little voices dutifully recited our prayers along with her recorded one….and then the story would begin.

No video…just the audio. Sometimes it was a movie…like Cinderella. Other times, it was a compilation of children's songs that told a story. One of my favorites was the musical version of Alice Through the Looking Glass. That’s where I learned to say (and subsequently sing) the alphabet backwards.

It’s one of those unique creative abilities that could prove to be priceless someday….because really…you never know when you could be held hostage at gunpoint and realize that the only way your kidnappers will let any of the hostages go free (the hostages consisting of: you, the blind orphan, the 86-year-old veteran grandfather of twelve...and the abandoned Guiding Eyes For the Blind dog with only three legs) is if one of you can SING THE ALPHABET BACKWARDS…WITHOUT STOPPING.

At which point, you break into “Z Y X , and W V U, T S R Q P O N M L K, J I H G F E D C B A and that’s the backward alphabet!”

From there, it's a parade in your honor....a key to the city by Mayor McCheese and a lifetime supply of jawbreakers in every color of the rainbow.

The other bedtime memory I have is a story about a little boy who decides he wants to grow carrots….because really, what little kid does not dream of growing his very own carrots? Not Twinkies….not Twizzlers….but carrots??

The narrator tells the story of how the little boy (we’ll call him Timmy) decides to plant some carrot seeds. We are not told how Timmy acquires said seeds, but we assume he bought them on the infamous carrot black market (or CBM), from a guy named Butch who was repeating fifth grade for the fourth time and who carried a pack of candy cigarettes in the rolled-up sleeve of his sweat-stained t-shirt.

Timmy announces, “I’ll water it, I’ll pull the weeds. Carrots grow from carrot seeds,” at which point Butch backs away warily, mumbling something about his mom calling him in for his piano lesson.

Timmy returns home, digs a hole in the backyard, drops in his “carrot seed”, waters it faithfully and waits for something to grow. Evidently, Timmy spends an inordinate amount of time watching and watering this particular plot of land. After several psychological evaluations and a whole lot of weeds later, Timmy was released on $5000 bail and happily forgot all about his stupid, stinkin' carrot seed.

Which is just as well...because according to the song, Timmy’s parents say, “Parents know a lot of things that little boys don’t know…so don’t be disappointed if your carrot does not grow,” which means that either Timmy’s parents gave him no encouragement whatsoever to follow his dream of someday attaining the possibly unattainable…or it was a euphemism to prepare Timmy for the possibility that his manhood may never grow any larger than it already was. My guess is that it was probably the latter, as Timmy’s older brother is then heard singing, “Nyaaah. It won’t come up. Nyaaah. It won’t come up. Nyaaah. It won’t come up. Your carrot won’t come up,” which…in my humble opinion, is just downright mean.

But in the end, with the help of science and an un-named source at an unidentified pharmaceutical company, Timmy’s carrot finally did come up.

And the moral of the story? Do you really need me to help you with this?? I think I’ve provided enough for one day….now you’re on your own.

You tell me the moral of the story. Go ahead….I double-dare ya.