Think waaayyyyy back. What's the first thing you remember loving? The very first tangible THING, the one that meant the whole, entire world to you; what was it? Do you remember? Do you still have it? Does it still make you feel?
For me, that first thing was a little pair of pink clogs made of thick but malleable plastic and green-apple stamped. Perfection in my eyes then, and even still. Ridiculous? Without doubt! But I love those little clogs like I love my family and I refuse to make any sort of apology for the fact.
There aren't many things I've kept from my childhood. I was always in such a hurry to grow up that I looked forward to every new phase and didn't feel the need to cling to things I now wish I had let myself love just a little longer. The few things I do still hold close are my childhood Holly Hobby quilt, the little record player I spent hours upon hours listening to my beloved Kenny Rogers songs over and over and over again on and then fell asleep to, when my mom would put on to quietly play, good ol' Charlie Farquharson's Bible Stories For Children Of All Ages... and my clogs, I have my clogs.
I find it almost bizarre, how clearly I remember my life lived in these silly little clogs. I only have the slightest bits of memories from when I was little and even those memories come more in the form of feelings, emotions than in actual clear pictures of my past. But somehow, when I hold that small pair of pink, green-apple stamped clogs, the clarity is there. I feel the excitement of waking up in the morning, of rushing downstairs in my ruffly nightgown to slip my tiny tootsies inside my waiting clogs, of shuffling into the kitchen for breakfast while fighting to keep them on in their too heavy and to yet-too-big fit. I tripped in them, I fell in them, I danced in them, I loved them!
And I remember later on when they actually did fit me... perfectly. I remember that feeling, when they were that indescribeable part-of-my-body feeling, when we were one with each other. I could play on the floor sitting cross-legged and know that when I moved or stood or ran to play outside with my best friend Marky, the shoes would go easily with me. I didn't have to fight to keep them on and I far too easily took for granted that the fit of perfection would undoubtedly remain.
I also remember when denial came. I fought it. As hard as I could, I fought the change that had to come. I was that growing child who refused to admit it to herself. The shoes became painful, in more ways than the blisters and ingrown nails caused from forcing my growing feet into the now too small shoes every day. I was growing, my interests were changing and I had no regrets in leaving behind my dolls and carriages in exchange for Spirographs and Fashion Plates. But my regret of no longer fitting into the shoes I still loved more than anything, filled me with an upset that even now, thirty-six years later, can reduce me to sobbing tears.
I remember the very morning, as I sat on the living room floor to try one last time to force my feet into those worn old clogs I cried and cried and cried. I hated life at that moment. I'm sure, as with any young child, I had experienced diassapointment before that moment. Maybe I hadn't been allowed to stay up past my bedtime, maybe I hadn't been allowed to have choclate before breakfast or maybe I hadn't talked my parents into buying me a toy I had asked for while shopping. But this was different. This was disappointment on a level that changed me and took a little bit of magic away, leaving what seemed an unbearably unfair reality in its wake.
I was suddenly clogless... and cloglessness had just not been part of my plan.....
It was my mom, who over the long years that followed, had saved those little pink, green-apple stamped clogs for me and when she gave them to me, for the second time, I felt that same excitement I had felt the first time I had seen those beautifully ugly clogs. And though I can only hold them in my hands now, when I do, I can still feel every emotion from thrilled with the new, to crushed with the loss along with every feeling that filled the in-between. The one thing I don't feel any longer is regret... because I know now; it's not that they no longer fit, it's just that now they fit differently.
So, what is it? What's your reminder? What's that one thing that can still, after years of growth and change, make you feel?
I find it almost bizarre, how clearly I remember my life lived in these silly little clogs. I only have the slightest bits of memories from when I was little and even those memories come more in the form of feelings, emotions than in actual clear pictures of my past. But somehow, when I hold that small pair of pink, green-apple stamped clogs, the clarity is there. I feel the excitement of waking up in the morning, of rushing downstairs in my ruffly nightgown to slip my tiny tootsies inside my waiting clogs, of shuffling into the kitchen for breakfast while fighting to keep them on in their too heavy and to yet-too-big fit. I tripped in them, I fell in them, I danced in them, I loved them!
And I remember later on when they actually did fit me... perfectly. I remember that feeling, when they were that indescribeable part-of-my-body feeling, when we were one with each other. I could play on the floor sitting cross-legged and know that when I moved or stood or ran to play outside with my best friend Marky, the shoes would go easily with me. I didn't have to fight to keep them on and I far too easily took for granted that the fit of perfection would undoubtedly remain.
I also remember when denial came. I fought it. As hard as I could, I fought the change that had to come. I was that growing child who refused to admit it to herself. The shoes became painful, in more ways than the blisters and ingrown nails caused from forcing my growing feet into the now too small shoes every day. I was growing, my interests were changing and I had no regrets in leaving behind my dolls and carriages in exchange for Spirographs and Fashion Plates. But my regret of no longer fitting into the shoes I still loved more than anything, filled me with an upset that even now, thirty-six years later, can reduce me to sobbing tears.
I remember the very morning, as I sat on the living room floor to try one last time to force my feet into those worn old clogs I cried and cried and cried. I hated life at that moment. I'm sure, as with any young child, I had experienced diassapointment before that moment. Maybe I hadn't been allowed to stay up past my bedtime, maybe I hadn't been allowed to have choclate before breakfast or maybe I hadn't talked my parents into buying me a toy I had asked for while shopping. But this was different. This was disappointment on a level that changed me and took a little bit of magic away, leaving what seemed an unbearably unfair reality in its wake.
I was suddenly clogless... and cloglessness had just not been part of my plan.....
It was my mom, who over the long years that followed, had saved those little pink, green-apple stamped clogs for me and when she gave them to me, for the second time, I felt that same excitement I had felt the first time I had seen those beautifully ugly clogs. And though I can only hold them in my hands now, when I do, I can still feel every emotion from thrilled with the new, to crushed with the loss along with every feeling that filled the in-between. The one thing I don't feel any longer is regret... because I know now; it's not that they no longer fit, it's just that now they fit differently.
 |
| I'm still holdin' on..... |
No comments:
Post a Comment