players light and plastic pails

We have this home video on VHS circa 1990.
We're in some subpar hotel in South Carolina, a real classy joint with one of those beds that comes down from the wall.
And I'm screaming - the cutest fucking meatball of a kid you've ever fucking seen.
I wasn't one of those weirdo kids, I was one of those shoulda been a child star kind of brats.
So I'm screaming but singing and I'm obsessed with collecting shells.
And my pops comes by in a yellow LA lakers sweatshirt cut off at the shoulders with a sixer of Coors Light. God bless Americana,
Anyhow I'm screaming and bouncing off the walls like any little runt hopped up on Coca-cola and pepperettes. And I'm screaming to my daddy. "Daddy how old are you? DAddddddyyyyyyy."

Finally he states, "Twenty-Five." Announcing it real big, real matter-of-facto ya know?
And I believe him. I don't even think twice. I just turn around and repeat, "Daddy's twenty-five" like a fact is a fact ya know? I carry on and ask my mom how old she is. Clearly, my dad is not twenty-five since I was conceived when he was thirty-six. And I'm screaming.
WOoooooooooYyYYYAYayyyaaaaa.
Like the cutest fucking munchkin you've ever fucking seen.

CUT TO: My sister sprawled out on the mattress (the one in the wall), and her nightgown's riding her waist, and her fruit of the looms are all over the camera.
Mom why are you filming this?

I love home videos.

Lola.