Writers’ Corner: ‘Dinomania’
I have identified as a T-Rex for a long time.
In a photo from my oldest child’s 1999 high school graduation party, I have black olives on all my fingers, and am holding my arms up (bent at the elbows), in front of my chest. She entitled the photo “Mommy’s Little T-Rex Arms.”
Of course I am a fan of family archives in the form of “Jurassic Park” films.
Though I haven’t formed a telepathic bond with chickens, I do recall feeling akin to raptors at times when I was a young parent. I didn’t actually hiss at people who threatened my nest, but I know I was formidable regarding suggestions about one of my kids needing medication for ADHD!
For my birthday, years ago, my middle child sent me an inflatable T-Rex costume. I’ve dutifully been a T-Rex for every Halloween. The neighborhood kids now understand two things: Dinosaurs understand the concept of “consent,” and they also give superlative hugs.
At this time, thanks primarily to my daughters, I have three pairs of dinosaur socks, a few dinosaur t-shirts, and a couple dinosaur sweatshirts, as well as brontosaurus earrings. You’re never fully dressed without a . . . dinosaur!
During her pregnancy, my daughter was advised to wear compression leg-wear. In solidarity, I got brightly printed hosiery with dinosaurs in blue and green for both of us.
When she asked me what my “Grandma” name would be, she had to know “Grammasaurus” was a no-brainer.
Every home has photos around, and sentimental memorabilia representative of the family’s priorities. We have Dino salt and pepper shakers in the curio cabinet. There are two framed dinosaur canvases and a T-Rex yoga calendar just in our kitchen. There’s a paper mâche Dino in the bathroom, in case it matters.
The ideation crept in over time, until I took a Zen approach: “See the dinosaur. Be the dinosaur.” It’s nearly complete. There are some parts missing: I still have no tail. I don’t lay eggs. Perhaps those will come in time. I lack feathers. I generally floss rotting flesh off my teeth, in spite of my short arms. I have it on good authority, my roar is fierce!
Everyone knows that “ROAR” in Dinosaur means, “I love you.” I roar often, so it will be clear.
I often stomp around, chase little children in my care, eat them up, and generally pretend at a qualified level, to the best of my ability, to maintain my dinosaur status. There are unfortunately no occasions where I would need a passport photo of me as a T-Rex, but if ID is required, I can produce multiple verified images.
I have a phobia about meteors, so I watch the sky when not hunting. I get righteously upset at archaeologists robbing the graves of my forbears.
I briefly identified as a squirrel. I eventually recognized my error.
When I was identifying as a firefly, I finally had to give it up because I couldn’t make my derrière light up, no matter how I stressed myself in the endeavor. My children could document my efforts. They knew it was a strain on me, and they persuaded me to accept the futility of it.
Now that I identify as a dinosaur, I’m no quitter.
Bio: Cindy has a favorite dinosaur and a favorite dinosaur spatula. If she could not be a T-Rex, she would be a Pterodactyl.
Writer's tip: Write to me at cmyr@aol.com to share what fabulous creature you would be, beside yourself.
Sturgis Writers’ Mill is a community of writers who constructively encourage, support and challenge each other as they discover their unique voices. Any opinion expressed is solely that of the author.
This article originally appeared on Sturgis Journal: I have identified as a T-Rex for a long time.
