There are tiny specs of time in childhood that still feel vivid. And maybe I should write each down because childhood is magical and I wish so often to return to those moments that I too casually wished away when I was younger.
You just don’t really realize what beauty is in childhood until you look at it from the above glance of an adult. I think Ben Rector is right, “the hardest part of growing up isn’t getting older, it’s learning how the real world goes”.
I miss being oblivious to the heartache of adulthood.
Pointing this out is really therapeutic. I often get so upset with my children for just how hard it is raising them and how oblivious they seem to the fact that I’m trying to give them the best life I can while also struggling with my own demons. But would I want them to be aware of the inner demons of adulthood? The weight they would carry if they did… I hope I can be a little more kind to their oblivion and see the blessing of it.
Vivid memories…
ah, I remember the pouring Missouri rain. Throwing the door open, feeling the sticky humidity enter into my lungs. Smelling the wet dirt and, just running. Running in the grass, running on the street. All with my head facing the sky, soaking it in and laughing. I remember racing up the cul-de-sac around the corner from our house, trying to make it to the flooded storm drain to sit in it like a bath before we heard the first boom of thunder and crack of lightning. Because once we heard that, we knew the warm rain would become shivering wet from rushing inside to safety. Whether we quickly changed or just wrapped ourselves in towels, I can’t recall. But I do remember, then gathering in front of the big bay window in the front room with the drapes pulled open, watching the rain slap the window. We would hear the rumble of thunder then count: one, two, three, four…until the crack of lightning would strike. That’s how far the storm was, or at leas that’s what we were told. And as a kid, you believe any cool fact like that.
I remember catching fireflies outside our house, and anywhere honestly. putting them in jars and creating “homes” for them. Heather would pull the lights off the back of them (sorry, a little morbid) and use the light to write on the sidewalk or smear it on herself.
I remember riding scooters inside during the cold winter months. We had a big cement area in our basement where we would just ride in circles for as long as we could.
There’s one hard personal memory from that time that is pretty vivid. Behind our house in St. Louis was a giant hill. Nobody behind us had a fence so we could just run down the hill and knock on our neighbor’s door to play with friends. We would roll down that hill, sled down it, play outdoor adventure, hide and seek. It was a kid’s paradise. One late afternoon/evening I recall having family friends over, maybe even quite a few, for a party or gathering. Heather had gone to the house down the hill from ours to play with a friend and my mom asked me to go get her. Just like always, I started off down the hill letting myself gain speed, faster and faster I would accelerate till I reached the bottom where it flattened out. Only this time, when I reached the sidewalk my legs were still determined to go fast. My toe caught the ledge of the sidewalk and I immediately fell flat on my hands and knees.
I didn’t get heather from her friend’s house that day. I slowly and painfully made the climb back up the hill to my parent’s house. Probably drenched more by tears than by blood. I can still feel the stinging in my hands, my palms red with white scratches. I still recall the bruised feeling they had for the next week every time I put pressure on them. I also remember that was the same day that I cut my thumb on a soda can during that same family party. I believe I ended the day with my mom walking me up the stairs earlier than I probably liked but definitely needed, to go to sleep. I just remember a sadness that the world felt so cruel to me that day.
Newly Rooted 
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