Oh, heavens yes,
Continue reading “Are You Ever Embarrassed By Things You Liked As A Kid?”
Tag: Childhood
July 5th – Trash Can Be Treasure
When I was a kid, more than looking forward to the fireworks on the 4th of July, I looked forward to the 5th. In the temporary coolness of the early morning, I would climb onto my bike and go on a treasure hunt.
Weekend Coffee Share #43
If we were having coffee, it would be iced, because unlike when we were meeting in Seattle, it is too hot to drink coffee comfortably. It would be okay if we were sitting inside, but it’s going to be so warm today that we wanted to sit outside while it is still morning and still nice.
With No Hands
A place from your past or childhood, one that you’re fond of, is destroyed. Write it a memorial.
Oh humble law building… (You were a law building, right?)
A small rectangular building standing awkwardly on blacktop, I can’t quite imagine that parking lot without it.
To the building, I may have been just another kid on a sky blue 10-speed bike, but that building was my greatest triumph.
Memories of a Childhood Home
It’s odd to think of my childhood house and the memories I have associated with it and thing that my Wee One will have memories, too, about the place we live in just the next few years. Every day with her is so beautiful, fun and playful. I will like seeing what she discovers about our home.
Papa Loves Mambo…And So Do I
My childhood home had a lot of music; my parents were both musicians. My birth father was a trumpet player, and when I was really young, I remember hearing him practice in the basement, and then bashing around church when he played for the Christmas services. I know Casino Royale on a cellular level, hearing him play it so much.
When An Untouchable Has A Crush
When we were growing up, our first crush was so important. And now, just thinking about him makes me want to laugh, but in an affectionate way.
I went to a small Lutheran school affiliated with five churches in St. Louis, and the school had a pretty rigid caste system that felt as strong as India’s caste system. And I was a dalit. If people even talked to me, they were tainted by association.
Rose Colored Glasses
My home at age 12 – a time in life I hated, yet I currently look back on fondly.
I’m an only child, and my real dad started leaving us way before 12, so it was just me and mom. The house was small and red-bricked with a circular stained-glass window in the front. It had a long hallway that, when we moved in when I was two, I yelled down to hear the echo. ~EH!~ When i got older, we swapped the carpeting for hardwood floors, and I could slide down the hallway. There was a little phone alcove in the middle of the hallway, and we stacked phone books under the telephone there. When I was talking with my friends, I unwound the cord pulling it so far to my room.
We had a basement – it was finished on one side, unfinished on the other and cool on both. I would sit on the finished side, watch 21 Jump Street, and fold laundry. Especially in the summertime. The AC – which was robin’s egg blue, of all colors – didn’t work very well, and during a thunder storm, we had to turn it off. Sometimes days passed without it on. Just fans.
The yard was big. I had mowed, crawled on, made snow angels on it – I knew that yard. Each tree. I knew them all. Climbed a few. Bushy overgrowth in the backyard became monsters and spaceships and a clubhouse for one. Mulberry bushes. At 12 years old, I kept my 10-speed on the side of the house. The street was short and boring – no other kids.
It was in a bad neighborhood, but situated in a great part of the city. And I could ride to all of those parts. Moreover, I had the time to imagine and be outside, and I miss that so much.
No one is so rich as to throw away a friend
Daily Prompt: Why Can’t We Be Friends? – Do you find it easy to make new friends? Tell us how you’ve mastered the art of befriending a new person.
I have memories of, in my youthy youth, going to the swimming pool with my mother. We walked in and put our things down on the plastic lounge chairs, and I said, “Okay, I’m going to go make some friends now.” I jumped into the shallow end and did just that.
I was even cuter than this, I’m sure.
It wasn’t so easy during my adolescence, but I have a better time of it now.
I think part of that is because I know myself and my interests. I’m a social worker that cares about economics and policy. I love to travel and have done a lot of it. I’m a fangirl of such things as Sherlock, renaissance fairs and biking. Part of it is also that other people who share similar interests or backgrounds are eager to be friends with others; it’s easy to connect with people over these things. Finally, I’m out of the house a lot – cigar bars and coffee houses, friends’ houses and on the hiking trail – I have ample opportunity to meet people.
Does a “Hero” need to be real?
Yesterday’s daily prompt asks me think about a hero I had at five years old. There isn’t much I can remember from that year, and I even looked up past news headlines to see if that would job any memories. No joy. So I tried to reflect on someone I looked up to, which is my understanding of a hero.
