Every Wednesday I'm going to (try to) post a memory from my childhood. As I mentioned before, the reason for this is because I really don't remember all that much, and I'm hoping that by actively thinking about it every week, I'll start to put the pieces together.
Today I thought I would make up for last week's post when I should have written about Ground Hog Day.
Growing up, Ground Hog Day, the movie, was always one of our favorite movies. We watched it pretty often because we all liked it a lot. We would quote many of the lines before they happened or in a fitting situation in real life. If one of us kids wanted to be extra annoying we would pretend to be Ned Ryerson. If one of us was getting angry, another would quip "Don't drive angry, Phil." If we wanted to display our ornery side, we would quote something like "Too early for flapjacks?"
My mom loved it most of all, though. She would get so into the movie that at times it was more entertaining to watch her than the movie. She has that childlike way about her when she's watching movies that makes it quite entertaining to be with her. She cracks up at the same jokes every time. She laughs in anticipation of jokes. It's really fun to watch it with her (and movies in general).
Watching Ground Hog Day is a great memory because I remember it being a very happy time with the family. We loved watching Phil try to blow himself up. We loved watching him slowly reform his ways.
And as I got older, I used to even get a little jealous of the idea. The idea that you could get an unlimited amount of time to do the things you've always wanted to? That just sounds great. He became fluent in another language, he became a master pianist, he even got a littler bit of culture and learned about poetry, and he learned something about himself and about others along the way. I've always been fascinated with both music and languages and the idea of being able to sit down and learn both only using up one day of my life would be awesome. I thought it would be so cool if I could get that chance, too (very twilight zone with the books and the glasses and the eternity).
If you had a day that lasted forever like in Ground Hog Day, what would you do with it? Would you master a sport, language, or instrument? Would you learn to cook? What would you do?
Showing posts with label My Childhood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label My Childhood. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
My Childhood: Bedtime Stories
Every Wednesday I'm going to (try to) post a memory from my childhood. As I mentioned before, the reason for this is because I really don't remember all that much, and I'm hoping that by actively thinking about it every week, I'll start to put the pieces together.
Happy Ground Hog day!
I've been trying to think about what to write, but today has been pretty busy, so I haven't come up with anything yet. [Edit: And after realizing it was Ground Hog day, I realized exactly what I should have written about, but I had already written this before I realized what day it was. I think I'll just this idea for next week.]
......
...
.... ... ..... . . . ... Aha!
I never remember getting bed time stories as a kid. I don't remember my parents reading to me (although I'm sure they did). I don't remember the stereotypical childhood pleadings for "one more chapter!" It's probably because I learned to read when I was 3-4 years old. But I do remember a funny thing my mom and I started when I was a preteen / teen.
I don't remember when this happened, but one day, we decided that we would "alternate" being the adult. From then on, sometimes I would come into her bedroom after she went to bed and tell her a bedtime story. It was a lot of fun because I got to just completely pull a story out of thin air to tell her. I think once or twice I even talked her into coming in and tucking me in.
I remember we would joke about it all the time. She would say something silly and I would take it very literally (not part of the game) and then mom would joke about how it must have been my turn to be the parent. Or we would get into mock fights about it "It was my turn last time, it's definitely your turn!"
My favorite thing was getting to tell her stories, though. Like I said, I loved getting to use my imagination. I would tell her stories about princesses getting rescued from the bad guys (usually some sort of ugly animal which I anthropomorphized for the story). But it was a lot of fun. Mom would lay in bed and I would sit on the edge of it and tell her a story. Then I wold pull up the covers and kiss her goodnight.
As an aside, don't get the idea that this happened every night, or even every week. It was just an occasional fun thing we did.
Weird? Yeah. Had unhealthy psychological undertones? Possibly. A lot of fun? Definitely.
What fun memories do you have with your parents? Did you ever take a turn being the adult?
Happy Ground Hog day!
I've been trying to think about what to write, but today has been pretty busy, so I haven't come up with anything yet. [Edit: And after realizing it was Ground Hog day, I realized exactly what I should have written about, but I had already written this before I realized what day it was. I think I'll just this idea for next week.]
......
...
.... ... ..... . . . ... Aha!
I never remember getting bed time stories as a kid. I don't remember my parents reading to me (although I'm sure they did). I don't remember the stereotypical childhood pleadings for "one more chapter!" It's probably because I learned to read when I was 3-4 years old. But I do remember a funny thing my mom and I started when I was a preteen / teen.
I don't remember when this happened, but one day, we decided that we would "alternate" being the adult. From then on, sometimes I would come into her bedroom after she went to bed and tell her a bedtime story. It was a lot of fun because I got to just completely pull a story out of thin air to tell her. I think once or twice I even talked her into coming in and tucking me in.
I remember we would joke about it all the time. She would say something silly and I would take it very literally (not part of the game) and then mom would joke about how it must have been my turn to be the parent. Or we would get into mock fights about it "It was my turn last time, it's definitely your turn!"
My favorite thing was getting to tell her stories, though. Like I said, I loved getting to use my imagination. I would tell her stories about princesses getting rescued from the bad guys (usually some sort of ugly animal which I anthropomorphized for the story). But it was a lot of fun. Mom would lay in bed and I would sit on the edge of it and tell her a story. Then I wold pull up the covers and kiss her goodnight.
As an aside, don't get the idea that this happened every night, or even every week. It was just an occasional fun thing we did.
Weird? Yeah. Had unhealthy psychological undertones? Possibly. A lot of fun? Definitely.
What fun memories do you have with your parents? Did you ever take a turn being the adult?
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
My Childhood: Where Are My Shoes?
Every Wednesday I'm going to (try to) post a memory from my childhood. As I mentioned before, the reason for this is because I really don't remember all that much, and I'm hoping that by actively thinking about it every week, I'll start to put the pieces together.
As a kid, I was awful at keeping track of my shoes. Every Sunday morning (the only time I was actually required to wear them usually) was a stressful period of running around checking under furniture and digging through piles of clothes trying to find my shoes. My dad especially was impatient and would freak out if we weren't ready "on time" (Although somehow, we always got to church waayy early, but whatever). Well, as I got older, I kept better track of my shoes, but one time I decided I would "pay it forward."
One day my oldest brother came for a visit. He had moved out a few months before and I was very upset with him. I was still too young to really understand that when you get to a certain age you move out and start your own life. You think I would have been really excited about getting to see him, but I was still mad at him for leaving. So I did the only thing I could think of: I hid his shoes.
After a while when he was done visiting he was getting ready to leave, but he couldn't find his shoes. He kept searching but couldn't find them. He was starting to get pretty frustrated, but I was just glad that my plan was working. At some point, my ten-year-old silliness gave away that I had hidden his shoes and he demanded I return them. Of course I refused.
Eventually I had to go get them and I was sad that my plan had failed. He drove off in his piece-of-crap convertible and I went back to my room and sulked because I missed him.
--
I don't really know why I felt like writing about that particular event, but there you have it. I also realize that these are probably really boring stories, but this blog is for me so at a certain point, I don't really care if I people read it / like it or not (although I do love getting comments!).
Did you have any older siblings you tried to sabotage?
As a kid, I was awful at keeping track of my shoes. Every Sunday morning (the only time I was actually required to wear them usually) was a stressful period of running around checking under furniture and digging through piles of clothes trying to find my shoes. My dad especially was impatient and would freak out if we weren't ready "on time" (Although somehow, we always got to church waayy early, but whatever). Well, as I got older, I kept better track of my shoes, but one time I decided I would "pay it forward."
One day my oldest brother came for a visit. He had moved out a few months before and I was very upset with him. I was still too young to really understand that when you get to a certain age you move out and start your own life. You think I would have been really excited about getting to see him, but I was still mad at him for leaving. So I did the only thing I could think of: I hid his shoes.
After a while when he was done visiting he was getting ready to leave, but he couldn't find his shoes. He kept searching but couldn't find them. He was starting to get pretty frustrated, but I was just glad that my plan was working. At some point, my ten-year-old silliness gave away that I had hidden his shoes and he demanded I return them. Of course I refused.
Eventually I had to go get them and I was sad that my plan had failed. He drove off in his piece-of-crap convertible and I went back to my room and sulked because I missed him.
--
I don't really know why I felt like writing about that particular event, but there you have it. I also realize that these are probably really boring stories, but this blog is for me so at a certain point, I don't really care if I people read it / like it or not (although I do love getting comments!).
Did you have any older siblings you tried to sabotage?
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
My Childhood: Blanket Forts
Every Wednesday I'm going to (try to) post a memory from my childhood. As I mentioned before, the reason for this is because I really don't remember all that much, and I'm hoping that by actively thinking about it every week, I'll start to put the pieces together.
Hahahahaha, I fail miserably at blogging, but I'm working on it. I realize my last childhood post was forever ago. So here's to getting back to it in the new year.
So, when we were kids, we loved making strongholds of any kind. In the winter we made snow forts in the yard. At other times, we dumped all of our "builder" toys out together and would make a ridiculous amalgamation of tinker toys, lincon logs, waffles, k'nex, and even my doll house / kitchen set. It was pretty impressive.
Our summer forts, though, were the best. We made blanket forts. Since we didn't need the blankets on the bed anymore, what better way to utilize this resource than to make forts? Exactly, you can't think of one. We would strategically arrange all of the dressers in our room to make the structural framework for our awesome castle. Most of the time, blankets got tucked into dresser drawers or books got piled on the corners to stabilize the "roof" of our stronghold.
In our zeal, nothing was sacred. I think we even tacked a few blankets up by tucking the corners into the drop ceiling tiles for effect. We used the mantel to create a taller room in our blanket fort and the dressers to create the tunnels in between rooms. There was of course room made for thetoy box treasure chest in one room.
Well one time we had run out of building materials to secure the roof of one of our corridors. We started hunting around and found this cool bronze plaque (probably 10-15 lbs). Perfect! We hefted it up on top of the 4.5 foot dresser and tucked the blanket underneath. Our fort was complete!
We began playing in our new fort and doing our usual nonsense when somehow we either pulled on the blanket or kicked into the dresser. Down the plaque came on my head. Ow. Fortunately, I'm rather thick-headed, so no permanent damage done. I still actually remember this happening (I guess that's a good sign), especially the part where we were banned from making forts because it was apparently a potentially amnesia / death inducing activity.
Honestly parents are no fun sometimes. :)
Sometimes it was a castle, sometimes (often) it was a spaceship (Our stuffed animals would play the part of the ship's crew). And the best part was that it could be both at the same time, because it's make-believe. Regardless, we always had a blast. I loved making forts because we all got to participate and since I was the smallest, I always fit better in our forts.
Good times.
What about you, did you ever make blanket forts?
Hahahahaha, I fail miserably at blogging, but I'm working on it. I realize my last childhood post was forever ago. So here's to getting back to it in the new year.
So, when we were kids, we loved making strongholds of any kind. In the winter we made snow forts in the yard. At other times, we dumped all of our "builder" toys out together and would make a ridiculous amalgamation of tinker toys, lincon logs, waffles, k'nex, and even my doll house / kitchen set. It was pretty impressive.
Our summer forts, though, were the best. We made blanket forts. Since we didn't need the blankets on the bed anymore, what better way to utilize this resource than to make forts? Exactly, you can't think of one. We would strategically arrange all of the dressers in our room to make the structural framework for our awesome castle. Most of the time, blankets got tucked into dresser drawers or books got piled on the corners to stabilize the "roof" of our stronghold.
In our zeal, nothing was sacred. I think we even tacked a few blankets up by tucking the corners into the drop ceiling tiles for effect. We used the mantel to create a taller room in our blanket fort and the dressers to create the tunnels in between rooms. There was of course room made for the
Well one time we had run out of building materials to secure the roof of one of our corridors. We started hunting around and found this cool bronze plaque (probably 10-15 lbs). Perfect! We hefted it up on top of the 4.5 foot dresser and tucked the blanket underneath. Our fort was complete!
We began playing in our new fort and doing our usual nonsense when somehow we either pulled on the blanket or kicked into the dresser. Down the plaque came on my head. Ow. Fortunately, I'm rather thick-headed, so no permanent damage done. I still actually remember this happening (I guess that's a good sign), especially the part where we were banned from making forts because it was apparently a potentially amnesia / death inducing activity.
Honestly parents are no fun sometimes. :)
Sometimes it was a castle, sometimes (often) it was a spaceship (Our stuffed animals would play the part of the ship's crew). And the best part was that it could be both at the same time, because it's make-believe. Regardless, we always had a blast. I loved making forts because we all got to participate and since I was the smallest, I always fit better in our forts.
Good times.
What about you, did you ever make blanket forts?
Thursday, December 23, 2010
More Christmas Budgeting
I was going to post about groceries... And then I thought, "That's boring! I'll do it tomorrow."
So then I decided to post about something Christmas-y. I just haven't figured out what yet.
I will post about our Christmas tree and how we paid for it instead. First, I love Christmas trees, especially real ones. And I love glass ornaments. And shiny things. And instead of an angel, I always have grown up with a tacky glittery star lit up with multi-color mini lights, so that is what I wanted when I first moved into my apartment 3 years ago. But as usual, money was tight. So for my very first Christmas in my apartment, I had no tree.
Since my husband (then, husband-to-be) is allergic to pine (tragic!), I knew we would be getting a plastic tree (sad). But really, it doesn't look that bad. I do miss the pine smell though. And the real green of real trees. Anyway, after Christmas we went to Walmart and the Dollar Store and loaded up on Christmas tree stuff. I got my beloved tacky star for $3. I got my tree for $20 or $30. I got lights on sale. I bought real, glass ornaments at the Dollar Store for 2 for $1, and some of the fancier ones were 1 for $1. I also bought some cheapo plastic ornaments which I don't like as much but it's nice for variety.
Overall I think I've spent about $50-$60 on my Christmas tree and it's pretty well decked out. Just yesterday I spent another $1 at the Dollar Store for another beautiful glass ornament I found (score!). I will add it to our tree probably on Christmas day. I think that it might become a tradition each year to buy another pretty ornament, even if it's just a $1 ornament. It's a frugal, fun activity we could do each year to add to our decorations, without breaking the bank. Even if we splurged and bought a Hallmark ornament (ack! those things are like $20 sometimes), it still wouldn't break the bank.
My point in all of this blathering, my point besides just telling you more about me, is that it's very possible to decorate for Christmas on a budget. We don't decorate the entire apartment. Just the tree. Honestly there isn't room for much more besides the tree! I could have saved even more had I searched for a tree second-hand, but I was still fairly new to the whole saving money thing while buying for an apartment (I bought pretty much everything new).
The biggest thing for decorating for Christmas is to buy right after Christmas. Stores, especially stores like Hobby Lobby and other craft-y stores, will be looking to unload all their Christmas merchandise. I might look for a wreath for our door after Christmas this year. I've been wanting one for a while. I've also been wanting some higher quality tinsel (Edit: when I say tinsel I mean garland, but I've always called it tinsel so that's what I still call it). Mine is very 2-D and not very fluffy. And of course, this works for any holiday and not just Christmas.
Finally, my favorite part about buying decorations just after a given holiday is that next year when you go to get them out again, they are brand new and it's like getting presents early!
What about you? How do you save money when decorating for the holidays?
So then I decided to post about something Christmas-y. I just haven't figured out what yet.
I will post about our Christmas tree and how we paid for it instead. First, I love Christmas trees, especially real ones. And I love glass ornaments. And shiny things. And instead of an angel, I always have grown up with a tacky glittery star lit up with multi-color mini lights, so that is what I wanted when I first moved into my apartment 3 years ago. But as usual, money was tight. So for my very first Christmas in my apartment, I had no tree.
Since my husband (then, husband-to-be) is allergic to pine (tragic!), I knew we would be getting a plastic tree (sad). But really, it doesn't look that bad. I do miss the pine smell though. And the real green of real trees. Anyway, after Christmas we went to Walmart and the Dollar Store and loaded up on Christmas tree stuff. I got my beloved tacky star for $3. I got my tree for $20 or $30. I got lights on sale. I bought real, glass ornaments at the Dollar Store for 2 for $1, and some of the fancier ones were 1 for $1. I also bought some cheapo plastic ornaments which I don't like as much but it's nice for variety.
Overall I think I've spent about $50-$60 on my Christmas tree and it's pretty well decked out. Just yesterday I spent another $1 at the Dollar Store for another beautiful glass ornament I found (score!). I will add it to our tree probably on Christmas day. I think that it might become a tradition each year to buy another pretty ornament, even if it's just a $1 ornament. It's a frugal, fun activity we could do each year to add to our decorations, without breaking the bank. Even if we splurged and bought a Hallmark ornament (ack! those things are like $20 sometimes), it still wouldn't break the bank.
My point in all of this blathering, my point besides just telling you more about me, is that it's very possible to decorate for Christmas on a budget. We don't decorate the entire apartment. Just the tree. Honestly there isn't room for much more besides the tree! I could have saved even more had I searched for a tree second-hand, but I was still fairly new to the whole saving money thing while buying for an apartment (I bought pretty much everything new).
The biggest thing for decorating for Christmas is to buy right after Christmas. Stores, especially stores like Hobby Lobby and other craft-y stores, will be looking to unload all their Christmas merchandise. I might look for a wreath for our door after Christmas this year. I've been wanting one for a while. I've also been wanting some higher quality tinsel (Edit: when I say tinsel I mean garland, but I've always called it tinsel so that's what I still call it). Mine is very 2-D and not very fluffy. And of course, this works for any holiday and not just Christmas.
Finally, my favorite part about buying decorations just after a given holiday is that next year when you go to get them out again, they are brand new and it's like getting presents early!
What about you? How do you save money when decorating for the holidays?
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
My Childhood: The Wonderful Maze
Since Fall is rapidly overtaking Summer, I thought I would post a glimpse into a Fall long past.
When I was little the church of about 350 people we used to go would hold a "Hallelujah Hay-down" for all of the kids, in lieu of an "evil" Halloween Party. You got to dress up, eat lots of candy, play games, get your face painted--all on Halloween. There was all kinds of stuff to do.
Cost of Admission: one bag of candy. But you got a bag of mixed candy when you left, so it was really pretty much free.
There was a hayride, which was awesome for a six year-old. There was a campfire (keep in mind, this is a city church. Looking back as an adult, I can't imagine how much red tape they had to go through to get approved for all this crap). At the campfire you got to listen to silly stories (not scary) and drink hot cocoa. The entire experience was great.
But the best part, the best part was the maze. Every year they cleared out all of the chairs in the main sanctuary to build THE BOX MAZE. They took refrigerator-sized boxes and taped them together to form this awesome maze that filled the center of the sanctuary. From a six year-old on the outside, it looked nigh magical. It looked like you really could get lost in there. And from a six year-old mindset, if you got lost, you might not ever be found. Like that toy you lost outside last summer and still couldn't find.
The first year we went, I was too young to be allowed in the maze, though. I was really sad. All my brothers got to go in and play, but not me. "I can take care of myself!" I tried to say, but no one listens to a six year-old. So after I went outside and had some hot chocolate, I came back in and went to the little kid maze. Before you get too excited for me, it looked like this.
L
That was it. It had exactly one corner, one turn. And one side was a lot longer than the other. It was totally lame. I went back to the main sanctuary and watched all the big kids going through the box maze.
I walked around to the different stations watching people get their faces painted or whatever. I remember thinking all night about whether or not I wanted to get my face painted. I remember thinking it was really really important for me to decide if it was ok. Finally, towards the end of the night I decided I wanted to get my face painted, but when I went back to where the face-painter had been, she had left!
There were 2 things I really wanted to do. One of them, I was kept from because of my size, the other, myself. You would think I would have learned something from that night, apart from that eating too much candy is makes your mouth happy but your tummy sad. But I've always felt "cheated" out of things, and I've always been cautious. I've agonized over whether to wear the purple or the red. I've lied awake at night deciding what to say to that one person who always stopped by my locker between 2nd and 3rd period. I've tormented myself over volunteering for something simple like handing out papers.
Even today, I am like that, at least a little bit. I am not very spontaneous, unless it is within boundaries I have already thoroughly explored and deemed safe. I sometimes agonize over small things like spending $2 more for a whatever-it-was that I really liked, versus the other whatever-it-was that I didn't like as much.
My cautious nature has often kept me from telling someone how much they really mean to me, and that's the thing that makes me saddest. I've written so many notes to people pouring out how much I appreciate and love them, only to fold them up, put them in a handmade envelope, and throw them away for irrational fear.
I think today, writing this, I have decided to try to be freer with compliments, more open with laughter. I don't want to go through the rest of my life, never telling people how much they mean to me because of my own silly insecurities.
When I was little the church of about 350 people we used to go would hold a "Hallelujah Hay-down" for all of the kids, in lieu of an "evil" Halloween Party. You got to dress up, eat lots of candy, play games, get your face painted--all on Halloween. There was all kinds of stuff to do.
Cost of Admission: one bag of candy. But you got a bag of mixed candy when you left, so it was really pretty much free.
There was a hayride, which was awesome for a six year-old. There was a campfire (keep in mind, this is a city church. Looking back as an adult, I can't imagine how much red tape they had to go through to get approved for all this crap). At the campfire you got to listen to silly stories (not scary) and drink hot cocoa. The entire experience was great.
But the best part, the best part was the maze. Every year they cleared out all of the chairs in the main sanctuary to build THE BOX MAZE. They took refrigerator-sized boxes and taped them together to form this awesome maze that filled the center of the sanctuary. From a six year-old on the outside, it looked nigh magical. It looked like you really could get lost in there. And from a six year-old mindset, if you got lost, you might not ever be found. Like that toy you lost outside last summer and still couldn't find.
The first year we went, I was too young to be allowed in the maze, though. I was really sad. All my brothers got to go in and play, but not me. "I can take care of myself!" I tried to say, but no one listens to a six year-old. So after I went outside and had some hot chocolate, I came back in and went to the little kid maze. Before you get too excited for me, it looked like this.
L
That was it. It had exactly one corner, one turn. And one side was a lot longer than the other. It was totally lame. I went back to the main sanctuary and watched all the big kids going through the box maze.
I walked around to the different stations watching people get their faces painted or whatever. I remember thinking all night about whether or not I wanted to get my face painted. I remember thinking it was really really important for me to decide if it was ok. Finally, towards the end of the night I decided I wanted to get my face painted, but when I went back to where the face-painter had been, she had left!
There were 2 things I really wanted to do. One of them, I was kept from because of my size, the other, myself. You would think I would have learned something from that night, apart from that eating too much candy is makes your mouth happy but your tummy sad. But I've always felt "cheated" out of things, and I've always been cautious. I've agonized over whether to wear the purple or the red. I've lied awake at night deciding what to say to that one person who always stopped by my locker between 2nd and 3rd period. I've tormented myself over volunteering for something simple like handing out papers.
Even today, I am like that, at least a little bit. I am not very spontaneous, unless it is within boundaries I have already thoroughly explored and deemed safe. I sometimes agonize over small things like spending $2 more for a whatever-it-was that I really liked, versus the other whatever-it-was that I didn't like as much.
My cautious nature has often kept me from telling someone how much they really mean to me, and that's the thing that makes me saddest. I've written so many notes to people pouring out how much I appreciate and love them, only to fold them up, put them in a handmade envelope, and throw them away for irrational fear.
I think today, writing this, I have decided to try to be freer with compliments, more open with laughter. I don't want to go through the rest of my life, never telling people how much they mean to me because of my own silly insecurities.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
My Childhood: Learning to Read
Every Wednesday I'm going to (try to) post a memory from my childhood. As I mentioned before, the reason for this is because I really don't remember all that much, and I'm hoping that by actively thinking about it every week, I'll start to put the pieces together.
When I was about two or three we moved out from the city into the country and one of the results of that move was that mom began to home school us. For my two oldest brothers who had already been in school some time, I imagine it was hard to go from hours surrounded by people your age 5 days a week, knowing the kids on your street, and other sorts of public school-ish things. But for my third brother and I, it wasn't really any different than what we had already been doing our whole lives--learning from mom.
I remember dying to know how to read. I wanted to know what was in all those books. I remember asking mom a lot about when she would teach me. It wasn't more than one or two years after we moved that the time finally came for her to teach my third brother how to read. I was so ready to learn, I couldn't wait.
Imagine mom, 5'10", sitting in her 70's green swivel chair turned away from her desk, leaning over with I think it was a Leap Frog reading book. My third brother, always tall for his age, was kneeling in front of her and off to the side a little bit, trying to make sense of the ink on the page. She held the pages out with one hand on the binding, and with the other traced the magic first words that so many kids learn to read, "See Spot run." He's dyslexic, so he's always had problems putting the letters in the right order.
They were both so focused, both telling me to wait my turn, but I didn't want to. I wanted to learn everything. So I crept behind my brother, and stood on my very tippy toes, balancing with a hand on a bookshelf beside me, following mom's finger with my eyes as she explained the words. I could read along with her!
She started to ask my brother to read the words out loud to her and I got so excited that I could read them I just couldn't wait for him to figure it out, so I started to "help" him.
That didn't go over too well.
But I was so excited to learn that I didn't care that my brother yelled at me or that I had to keep silent the rest of the time we were learning. I just remembered eagerly standing on my tippy toes, soaking up every variation of "See Spot run" with the eagerness of a puppy around new people.
When I was about two or three we moved out from the city into the country and one of the results of that move was that mom began to home school us. For my two oldest brothers who had already been in school some time, I imagine it was hard to go from hours surrounded by people your age 5 days a week, knowing the kids on your street, and other sorts of public school-ish things. But for my third brother and I, it wasn't really any different than what we had already been doing our whole lives--learning from mom.
I remember dying to know how to read. I wanted to know what was in all those books. I remember asking mom a lot about when she would teach me. It wasn't more than one or two years after we moved that the time finally came for her to teach my third brother how to read. I was so ready to learn, I couldn't wait.
Imagine mom, 5'10", sitting in her 70's green swivel chair turned away from her desk, leaning over with I think it was a Leap Frog reading book. My third brother, always tall for his age, was kneeling in front of her and off to the side a little bit, trying to make sense of the ink on the page. She held the pages out with one hand on the binding, and with the other traced the magic first words that so many kids learn to read, "See Spot run." He's dyslexic, so he's always had problems putting the letters in the right order.
They were both so focused, both telling me to wait my turn, but I didn't want to. I wanted to learn everything. So I crept behind my brother, and stood on my very tippy toes, balancing with a hand on a bookshelf beside me, following mom's finger with my eyes as she explained the words. I could read along with her!
She started to ask my brother to read the words out loud to her and I got so excited that I could read them I just couldn't wait for him to figure it out, so I started to "help" him.
That didn't go over too well.
But I was so excited to learn that I didn't care that my brother yelled at me or that I had to keep silent the rest of the time we were learning. I just remembered eagerly standing on my tippy toes, soaking up every variation of "See Spot run" with the eagerness of a puppy around new people.
Friday, September 3, 2010
My Childhood
A little bit about me: My. Memory. Sucks. I don't remember hardly anything from my childhood before 10, but even after 10 I don't remember beyond a few special memories before high school. And even high school, is sort of a blur.
So one thing I thought I'd start doing, is chronicling the things I do remember from childhood. I'm hoping that the more I think about it, the more I'll remember. I think it's important to be able to acknowledge where we came from and to be able to remember the events that have shaped us into the people we are today. Sometimes I feel sort of cheated that I can only remember vague glimpses of my childhood. Other times, I wish I could forget entirely.
One thing I know about my childhood: it was bittersweet. I haven't decided yet if I'm going to focus on remembering the good only, or the good and the bad. Both have shaped me, impacted who I am today, but is pain really worth remembering? Should I really be spending energy on trying to remember the skeletons in the closet, or should I focus on the rainbows and sunshine?
Is the sunshine as bright without memory of the shadow? Is the joy as sweet without remembrance of the pain?
My first story will be one of my very earliest memories. It is more like a picture that I remember than a story. the picture is of our old house in Cincinnati. I am only 3 maybe. I am standing on the rust-colored carpet of the staircase with my 3 older brothers, straining to be tall enough to watch. We are flying paper airplanes off of the staircase into the living room. Dad is making the airplanes for us and watching from his chair while we crash our planes into everything. One gets stuck on the mantle. Everyone is happy.
The biggest thing I remember about this is that everyone is happy. No one is yelling; no one is fighting. Dad is amiably playing along, helping us retrieve our airplanes when they get stuck or just making a new one to replace it.
The strangest thing about this memory is why I remember it. I couldn't tell you. Was it the first time I saw a paper airplane? Maybe. Was there something else going on in life that caused this memory to be preserved? Why do I remember this picture so vividly? The thick shaggy carpet beneath my feet. The weird vases on the mantle that our planes kept crashing into. The gold-colored lamp in the corner. the wing-back chair dad was sitting in. The shape of the cutout that divided the staircase from the living room. I remember it very clearly, especially considering how little I remember in general about my life.
What do you think? Do you think I should strive to remember the Joy and the Pain, or just the Joy? What would you do?
So one thing I thought I'd start doing, is chronicling the things I do remember from childhood. I'm hoping that the more I think about it, the more I'll remember. I think it's important to be able to acknowledge where we came from and to be able to remember the events that have shaped us into the people we are today. Sometimes I feel sort of cheated that I can only remember vague glimpses of my childhood. Other times, I wish I could forget entirely.
One thing I know about my childhood: it was bittersweet. I haven't decided yet if I'm going to focus on remembering the good only, or the good and the bad. Both have shaped me, impacted who I am today, but is pain really worth remembering? Should I really be spending energy on trying to remember the skeletons in the closet, or should I focus on the rainbows and sunshine?
Is the sunshine as bright without memory of the shadow? Is the joy as sweet without remembrance of the pain?
My first story will be one of my very earliest memories. It is more like a picture that I remember than a story. the picture is of our old house in Cincinnati. I am only 3 maybe. I am standing on the rust-colored carpet of the staircase with my 3 older brothers, straining to be tall enough to watch. We are flying paper airplanes off of the staircase into the living room. Dad is making the airplanes for us and watching from his chair while we crash our planes into everything. One gets stuck on the mantle. Everyone is happy.
The biggest thing I remember about this is that everyone is happy. No one is yelling; no one is fighting. Dad is amiably playing along, helping us retrieve our airplanes when they get stuck or just making a new one to replace it.
The strangest thing about this memory is why I remember it. I couldn't tell you. Was it the first time I saw a paper airplane? Maybe. Was there something else going on in life that caused this memory to be preserved? Why do I remember this picture so vividly? The thick shaggy carpet beneath my feet. The weird vases on the mantle that our planes kept crashing into. The gold-colored lamp in the corner. the wing-back chair dad was sitting in. The shape of the cutout that divided the staircase from the living room. I remember it very clearly, especially considering how little I remember in general about my life.
What do you think? Do you think I should strive to remember the Joy and the Pain, or just the Joy? What would you do?
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