"Okay," she laughs. "Are you ready?"
I nod.
"You are going to live in a mansion, drive a tractor, marry Micheal Jackson, and have seven kids." We look up from the paper and erupt in giggles. I roll back onto the cool concrete and catch my breath.
"Want me to do yours again?" I ask.
"No, let's go play with your Barbies." She responds and we run across the driveway and in my front door.
I have lots of memories of her. Her grandparents were my neighbors. Her cousins lived across the street. We didn't go to the same school. We lived in different states. I can't remember ever meeting her parents. But we used to fantasize about going to college together and being in each other's weddings and living next door to each other and our kids playing together, just like us.
That was probably 25 years ago. We moved away, and I don't think I ever saw her again but she left a mark on my heart. I remember our summers together - exploring the woods, picking berries from my grandmother's bushes, dancing in my front yard, kickball in the street.
Her cousin friended me on Facebook. Immediately I thought of her. Wondered where she might be. Thought about what she might have done with her life. Was she married? Did she have kids? Does she ever return to her grandparents' house and remember those long afternoons?
And then...a picture of a little girl on her Facebook page. One that looks just like her with long dark hair and a big, bright smile. It is the little girl I remember, the one that will always be in my mind because that's how I saw her last. The grown woman in the other pictures seems distant - not necessarily the same girl. But am I?
Would she recognize me? Would she accept a friend request? Even the anonymity of the online world doesn't provide the cover I need to be brave.
I click the message box and cautiously type, "Hi, do you remember me?"
Showing posts with label childhood memories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label childhood memories. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
Monday, August 27, 2012
A Story About a Minnie Mouse Purse and a Hello Kitty Necklace
I don't really remember how old I was. Young. So I'm going to go with 5 or 6. I'm pretty sure we still lived in the green house on the creek. The one with snakes in the basement. And we moved out of that place when I was 6. So we'll go with 5. Plus Ainsley's 5 so that makes the story better.
So I was 5. It was Christmas. We were on our way to my grandparent's farm to exchange gifts and visit with our cousins. I sat in the back seat with my brand new purse. It was black, patent leather, with Minnie Mouse on the front. I remember the strap being so long that I could wear it like a messenger bag. Actually, Ainsley would call it a satchel. I also remember the mouse ears and the big red bow.
We stopped at a store just down the street from the farm. I don't remember why. But I do remember walking through the aisles. I don't remember taking the purse off. I don't remember putting it on a shelf. But I do remember heading down the road and realizing it was gone.
I begged to go back. My dad refused. I cried. He still refused. We headed on our way, and my purse was gone.
That purse probably would have ended up in the bottom of a toy box. I don't remember ever being crazy about Minnie Mouse and I don't remember loving to carry purses around. However, I remember that moment when my stomach just crashed and this thing that I loved for the day was gone forever. My dad spat lessons from the front seat, "You need to take care of your stuff," "I'm not keeping up with your stuff," "You're old enough to know better."
And all that was true. I don't remember ever leaving something behind like that again. So I did learn the lesson. But it was a tough one to swallow at 5.
Yesterday, we left Target and as we pulled out of the parking lot Ainsley spoke up from the backseat.
"Oh no! My necklace," she cried.
"What necklace?" I asked.
"My Hello Kitty necklace is gone. I think I put it on the princess doll."
My initial reaction was, oh well...it's just a dumb little necklace. But before I could say anything, Clif pulled into another spot.
"You put your necklace on a doll in the store?" he asked.
"Yes," she cried.
He was irritated, but he got out, opened the van door and took her back into the store.
They were gone for awhile. They checked the toy aisles, the bathroom, the lost and found, the girls section. No necklace.
Ainsley came back red eyed.
We drove on, the sadness in the car heavy.
"Ainsley, maybe we could get a movie and eat popcorn when we get home," Clif said as he glanced at her in the rear view mirror.
"Yes!" Ainsley exclaimed. So we stopped and got the movie - The Smurfs...again. Got back in the car and headed home.
It was a dumb necklace...just like it was dumb purse. But I bet Ainsley won't be thinking about it 30 years later. She probably won't have a story like this to tell because I'm sure the details will fly from her mind. At some point in her life, she'll be angry with us. She'll pull away and try her wings. She'll throw fits and we'll have arguments. She'll break the rules and we'll punish her.
But somewhere deep inside, she'll know that Daddy was always on her side. That he always had her back. That he was always willing to do whatever it took to make her smile. And that will be the story that she tells her kids.
So I was 5. It was Christmas. We were on our way to my grandparent's farm to exchange gifts and visit with our cousins. I sat in the back seat with my brand new purse. It was black, patent leather, with Minnie Mouse on the front. I remember the strap being so long that I could wear it like a messenger bag. Actually, Ainsley would call it a satchel. I also remember the mouse ears and the big red bow.
We stopped at a store just down the street from the farm. I don't remember why. But I do remember walking through the aisles. I don't remember taking the purse off. I don't remember putting it on a shelf. But I do remember heading down the road and realizing it was gone.
I begged to go back. My dad refused. I cried. He still refused. We headed on our way, and my purse was gone.
That purse probably would have ended up in the bottom of a toy box. I don't remember ever being crazy about Minnie Mouse and I don't remember loving to carry purses around. However, I remember that moment when my stomach just crashed and this thing that I loved for the day was gone forever. My dad spat lessons from the front seat, "You need to take care of your stuff," "I'm not keeping up with your stuff," "You're old enough to know better."
And all that was true. I don't remember ever leaving something behind like that again. So I did learn the lesson. But it was a tough one to swallow at 5.
Yesterday, we left Target and as we pulled out of the parking lot Ainsley spoke up from the backseat.
"Oh no! My necklace," she cried.
"What necklace?" I asked.
"My Hello Kitty necklace is gone. I think I put it on the princess doll."
My initial reaction was, oh well...it's just a dumb little necklace. But before I could say anything, Clif pulled into another spot.
"You put your necklace on a doll in the store?" he asked.
"Yes," she cried.
He was irritated, but he got out, opened the van door and took her back into the store.
They were gone for awhile. They checked the toy aisles, the bathroom, the lost and found, the girls section. No necklace.
Ainsley came back red eyed.
We drove on, the sadness in the car heavy.
"Ainsley, maybe we could get a movie and eat popcorn when we get home," Clif said as he glanced at her in the rear view mirror.
"Yes!" Ainsley exclaimed. So we stopped and got the movie - The Smurfs...again. Got back in the car and headed home.
It was a dumb necklace...just like it was dumb purse. But I bet Ainsley won't be thinking about it 30 years later. She probably won't have a story like this to tell because I'm sure the details will fly from her mind. At some point in her life, she'll be angry with us. She'll pull away and try her wings. She'll throw fits and we'll have arguments. She'll break the rules and we'll punish her.
But somewhere deep inside, she'll know that Daddy was always on her side. That he always had her back. That he was always willing to do whatever it took to make her smile. And that will be the story that she tells her kids.
****************************
Okay, so this post was meant to show you what an awesome father Clif is. But this story actually has a very funny ending that I absolutely have to share. After picking the movie and heading home, Ainsley found the necklace...on her neck! Imagine that. It had fallen below her shirt and she said "It must have just disappeared and then came back because it knew that I loved it."
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Honeysuckle
Freddie is drifting to sleep as I sit in the dark living room looking out over the front of my grandfather's property. As a child, I spent so much time here. Now, I'm lucky to get back once a year. This has been my first trip back since my cousin Beverly's wedding 3 years ago. In that time she's bought a house, had a baby and has another on the way. Things change and move forward even when you're not present.
The big picture window in the living room looks out over the porch to the front yard and gravel drive. Long ago, between the two giant evergreens, there was a hammock. We would wrap ourselves in it and spin until we were sick.
There was a pool where a shed stands now. My grandmother taught me to dive in that pool. My uncle tossed us through the air in that pool. My cousins and I would make whirlpools and play Marco Polo and float and splash and fight and giggle.
There was a porch swing out there, over to the right. I remember sitting there with my mom as she explained to me that my dog had been put to sleep after being hit by a car. I think that was the first time I understood the finality of death...that Smokey wouldn't be back.
On the left side of the porch is some lattice. It's still there. What's missing is the honeysuckle. The smell wafted across the porch and into the yard. That smell still takes me right to that green wooden porch, my spindly legs dangling off the side. We'd pluck the flowers from the vine and inhale the sweet aroma as the velvety white petals tickled our noses. Once the scent filled us to our toes, we'd pull the stem from the bottom and drip the sticky nectar on to our tongues. Just a small, fleeting drop, but the sugar filled our cheeks and warmed our bellies.
I can hear the distant echos of laughter as we run through corn fields, feed chickens and race horses. I can feel the vibrations of a tractor through my feet and the sting of scratches on my bare skin from the hay. I can smell the honeysuckle and stare up at millions of stars, unpolluted by city lights.
And in a moment, I am back...in a dark living room, the only sound - the steady breathing of my sleeping boy, who sometimes smells just like honeysuckle.
The big picture window in the living room looks out over the porch to the front yard and gravel drive. Long ago, between the two giant evergreens, there was a hammock. We would wrap ourselves in it and spin until we were sick.
There was a pool where a shed stands now. My grandmother taught me to dive in that pool. My uncle tossed us through the air in that pool. My cousins and I would make whirlpools and play Marco Polo and float and splash and fight and giggle.
There was a porch swing out there, over to the right. I remember sitting there with my mom as she explained to me that my dog had been put to sleep after being hit by a car. I think that was the first time I understood the finality of death...that Smokey wouldn't be back.
On the left side of the porch is some lattice. It's still there. What's missing is the honeysuckle. The smell wafted across the porch and into the yard. That smell still takes me right to that green wooden porch, my spindly legs dangling off the side. We'd pluck the flowers from the vine and inhale the sweet aroma as the velvety white petals tickled our noses. Once the scent filled us to our toes, we'd pull the stem from the bottom and drip the sticky nectar on to our tongues. Just a small, fleeting drop, but the sugar filled our cheeks and warmed our bellies.
I can hear the distant echos of laughter as we run through corn fields, feed chickens and race horses. I can feel the vibrations of a tractor through my feet and the sting of scratches on my bare skin from the hay. I can smell the honeysuckle and stare up at millions of stars, unpolluted by city lights.
And in a moment, I am back...in a dark living room, the only sound - the steady breathing of my sleeping boy, who sometimes smells just like honeysuckle.
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