“It is impossible to give thanks and simultaneously feel fear.”
-Ann Voskamp, One Thousand Gifts
I was going to write a post with 50 things I’m grateful for, but that devolved into me talking about childhood memories. This is probably due to two things: (1) I went to a one year old’s birthday party on Saturday…and I remember when I was a kid at those, and now I’m not a kid and (2) I’m reading a bit of C.S. Lewis’ autobiography. And I’m in the part where he’s a kid and stuff.
1. I had a paper route when I was little. And sometimes, on cold winter days, I remember walking towards my house and smelling what my mom made for dinner, and knowing that it was going to be delicious and warm, and maybe the windows would be fogged from the heat when we all gathered around the table for dinner.
2. My mom didn’t like me to wear bare feet, but sometimes I would take my shoes off anyway, in the summer, at night, and I would bound over the clover, pretending like I was a fairy, dancing with the fireflies on my front lawn.
3. My uncle would always get children entertainers for his kid’s birthday parties–magicians and clowns and the like! These were magical moments where adults dressed in colorful clothes and talked to children and made animals from balloons.
4. One of my aunts spent some time as a Tahitian dancer. Sometimes my cousin and my sister and I would dress in her old costumes and make up our own performances. I’m sure they were awful. My aunt clapped anyway.
5. Before my youngest brother, Josh, was even verbal, and he slept in a crib about two feet from my parent’s bed, we used to shimmy into the crib with him when my mom wasn’t looking. And we taught him how to stand on the bar of the crib–shaky and insecure. And then we taught him to jump onto my parents’ bed, over the two-foot gap. This was, obviously, very dangerous. But, we all lived so…it’s good?
6. My mother kept a bin full of children’s musical instruments that we were convinced we knew how to play. I was thinking about this on my way into work this morning. Last night, you see, I was working on my new instrument–mandolin. I remember that we used to have a plastic guitar, with plastic-guitar strings, and we all thought it was a legit guitar and we would “play” it. Ah, imagination.
7. One time I wanted to help my mom cook, so I went to get her an egg, and instead I dropped it on the floor and I felt so bad, that I went into my closet to cry and my mom came and found me and hugged me and told me that it was OK and that everyone makes mistakes.
This is probably the only reason why I still cook.
8. We had this one book of Native American life-styles and what not, and there was this one page that featured all of the ways one could wear war-paint. And my brother, Paul, had this one face-paint style that was kind of like a ying-yang, with one eye covered in a circle of blue and the other half of your face (sans eye) covered in blue as well, and it was his GOAL to have that painted on his face. Only, he was too young to communicate well. And he always left the fair face-painters chairs disappointed. And one time he took matters into his own southpaw. With a Sharpie. All over his face. Life is good when you are four…and, unexpectedly, a permanent Native-American about to do battle.
9. My twin siblings, Paul and Christine, had different bikes, because they are different people. And Christine’s bikes braked by back-pedaling, and Paul’s bike had hand-brakes. And one time they decided to switch bikes, and they were riding around our block, but in different directions. And they ended up riding straight towards each other. And they each tried to brake, but didn’t know how. And Christine turned right, but Paul, being a lefty, turned left, and they were still headed towards each other. Cue the dance that is steering one way and then the other, but always at the same time. And, eventually, they collided and fell all over each other in the street. But, nothing was broken, so all was good.
10. One time, I was sitting at the kitchen table, working on penmanship. I was copying “B’s” over and over again on a line, where there are two dark lines and the dotted line in the middle. My mom was on the phone and, also, pregnant with my youngest brother, Josh. Sitting at the table with me was my oldest brother, David, also practicing the lesson. My mom had told us that the top bump was smaller, and the bottom bump of the “B” was a bit larger…like a belly. So we started drawing the bellies larger and larger and larger…reflecting, as unfeeling children might, that these mimicked our mother’s pregnant belly. We found this to be very funny. Our mother, later, did not.
Ta da! Ten memories. Te gusta? 🙂