Thursday, May 25, 2006

Childhood Memories

Memory is a child walking along seashore. You never can tell what small pebble it will pick up and store away among its treasured things. ~Pierce Harris

There are so many thoughts that float through my head. I know people will see these as small and insignificant. These thoughts are the ones that I have not shared. They are personal and not really conversation material. I have kept them inside. I have not talked about events or things from my past.

You know about that assumption thing right? I assumed my childhood memories are remembered by all of those present in my childhood. I think everyone has a place inside them where they keep these memories.

A small thing or act that I remember so clearly is not visible to the rest of the world. I am a Daddy’s girl I have no doubt about that. I loved every moment I could spend with my Dad. If it was following him around the yard while he dusted the roses or putting the horsemeat out to thaw in the big sink in the laundry room for Roberick, our dog, I was on his heels.

I loved when the bank statement came in the mail. This was the day I got to draw lines on the little white pads with the protractor. I was in charge of sorting the checks in numerical order so my Dad could reconcile the check book. I also stuffed, licked, and sealed the outgoing bill envelopes. I got to lick the stamps! I remember how important I felt. I was doing something useful and helpful.

I took tennis lessons to try and become a better tennis player. I loved to play tennis with my Dad. The problem was he had this ace serve. I am certain not even Billie Jean King could have returned that ball! I never did learn how to serve the ace but I sure had fun playing. I always wondered how my brother fared playing golf with him, I never asked.

I followed my Dad to the basement to check the water; he tested the water carefully and added chemicals to the chlorinator when the test did not give him a satisfactory result. Sometimes I would help him sort nuts, bolts, and washers into the little glass baby food jars on his workbench.

My brother, Mark, had a train set in the basement. My Dad and Mark built a train table with care. I used to make buildings for Mark. There were these plastic sticks that snapped together. On the plastic sticks were nubs where you could snap on these plastic pieces that looked like windows. I have not seen this kind of building set since. I don’t know what it was called. It was fun! My brother simulated train wrecks and tied little people to the track sometimes. He would laugh and play for hours!

My brother used to scare me with these large, black, fake, plastic spiders. I remember coming up the basement steps and seeing one on the wall. I laughed and laughed and reached out to grab it. It scurried up the wall and I was so scared. My heart fell into my stomach and how fast my laugh turned around on me. I was very careful from that day forward in picking up his plastic spiders.


Anonymous Anonymous said...

Memories are such personal experiences. What I find fascinating is when my sisters and I relive a moment from our past.. and each one of us has such different memories of the experience. I too loved to spend time with my dad. He was a cattle buyer and I used to accompany him to the cattle auctions and clerk his sales. I was always so proud to be with him.

May 25, 2006 8:02 PM  

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