Remember the Time?

Time is free, but it’s priceless. You can’t
own it, but you can use it. You can’t keep
it, but you can spend it. Once you’ve lost it
you can never get it back.

Time waits for no one. So why not make the most of it?

Have you ever played the game “remember the time?” Well whenever my sisters and I get together, we are able to play this game for hours. “Remember the time we tried to construct a ladder out of household items and keep it under our bed in case there was a fire and we needed a quick escape?” “Remember the time we drove to Ontario and each had a yellow car count of over 600?” “Remember that time we played walk around the house, I severely cut my leg and mom was too grossed out to pour peroxide over it?” “Or when we had a daily set up of what we called Barbie Land and no one was allowed to clean it up?”

We have way too many memories to talk about in one sitting.

As I’m sitting here thinking about all of these memories, I realize that every childhood memory I have consists of my sisters and our ridiculous, but fabulous times.

Now one thing you have to realize about the Sampson girls is that we’re so much alike, but at the same time, completely different. We are all three years apart and our mother dressed us alike wherever we went. We were often called the Von-Sampson Family Sisters (a mixture of us and the Von-Trap Family Singers from the sound of music). When we were younger, my older sister Candace was considered the perfect one, I was considered the tasmanian devil and my little sister Chloee was just completely content (most of the time). Candace got up in the morning without a hair on her head out of place, bangs perfectly groomed and not a spot on her nightgown. She came prancing down the hall, gracefully and efficiently. I, on the other hand got out of bed looking like I just got hit by a train. My hair was everywhere. I went to bed every night with a clean outfit, and woke up with stains all over it. To this day, I don’t know how that happened. I guess I am ridiculously clumsy. You could hear me coming from a mile away. Like a tornado, I barreled down the hallway, tripping over my nightgown, knocking down everything in my path. And once again, Chloee was just content.

Keeping this in mind, my earliest memory is when I was three, Candace was six, and Chloee was just a baby. Candace woke up and sauntered down the hall. Chloee was up, making an attempt to crawl down the hall. I woke up, bolted down the hall, and knocked Chloee over mid-crawl. I was wearing a light yellow summer nightgown, Candace was wearing the same one, but in blue. We both had little black ballet slippers on. Candace’s hair was smooth and groomed; mine was in a massive high ponytail that tilted to the side with pieces falling every which way.

Both of my parents are from Cape Breton, so naturally, I was brought up listening to The Rankins. As soon as we got to the living room, “Tell My Ma” was playing. Candace and I started dancing and singing. Candace, of course, sang perfectly. I had a massive lisp and couldn’t pronounce anything right. It was a sight for sore eyes.

Candace’s dancing consisted of a six-year-old version of step dancing. So, pretty much fake step dancing. My dancing style consisted of swinging my long ponytail around in circles, side swiping everyone who got too close. As we preformed, Chloee stood holding the side of the coffee table, bobbing up and down drooling profusely. (She had a massive drooling problem).

This is a memory that stands out amongst all others. To this day, we still talk about it at the supper table. This ends in us blaring out all the lyrics to “Tell My Ma” and annoying the hell out of my parents. Oh well, my parents should know by now that we can’t have a quiet family dinner. It’s expected!