I sucked my thumb until I was nine. I still remember how good it tasted, how rubbing my nose with a hang nail while thumb sucking was basically the greatest thing ever. I would occasionally do it at school, cupping my hands over my mouth and nose as if that somehow hid my actions. I was never made fun of, I must have stopped doing it at school before people really noticed. But then again, I went to a fairly vanilla school where there was no bullying and the biggest problem there was cliques. Yes, cliques, that I will go into another time.
So thumbs. For a kid who was facing her parents divorce, the thumb was a crucial form of comfort and sameness. And I was addicted. My parents and siblings were always trying to convince me to stop, making bets with me. My father and I had a running bet, if he quit smoking I would quit sucking my thumb or vice versa. They stopped short of dipping my thumb in vinegar, since they are good people. I couldn't tear myself away from this delicious habit. Looking back it was just like my experience as a smoker. I would resolve to stop the following day and I'd wake up, having forgotten my vow, smoke, have a Homer Simpson moment and then decide screw it, the day's shot anyway. Maybe my thumb sucking primed me to fall in love with cigarettes. Cigarettes: thumb sucking for grown ups.
I quit sucking much the way I quit smoking. I was forced to. Not by anyone, but by my body. As a smoker I developed asthma, had an attack and that was the last time I ever smoked. As a thumb sucker it was a little more gruesome. No, I didn't lose my thumb (though that was probably the only other thing that would've worked). I had a horrible bike accident the summer after I turned nine, the first summer my parents were separated. My Huffy off-roader (fine print, do not at any point ride this bike off-road. My brother missed these instructions and used to make jumps out of planks and firewood. Ah the 80's) had been handed down from my brother to my sister and then to me. Apparently seven years of hard riding is more than the limit for that model. As I flew down the hill anxious to show my dad just how fast I could go, no shoes, no helmet, I saw the front wheel wobble, a bolt having come loose, and then blackness. I woke up in the back of my dad's car, my brother holding me saying, don't go to sleep, don't go to sleep. I had knocked out three teeth, had a cut that ran from my upper lip to my hair line. Both knees were shredded, and I had cuts on most of my toes. My sister stayed behind while we went to the hospital to search for my teeth. She told me she followed the blood splatters, but it took three days to find them in the brush by the side of the road (she's the best). Magically, I didn't break anything. But, with no front teeth and a puffed up lip, sucking my thumb was out. I struggled to sleep for the first week, in part because I was cold and couldn't have a blanket over most of me since it hurt. But now I realize, it was also because it was the first time in my life I had to fall asleep without sucking my thumb. But don't feel bad for me, eight years later I found cigarettes.
