CHILDHOOD MEMORIES
It's 3AM, and I can't sleep.
My quick trip to the bathroom turned out to be a curse. For unknown reasons, my mind refused to go back to sleep and instead is flashing back to my childhood memories in vivid detail.
I guess this stems from the fact that I have been pondering the kind of childhood memories my own children are making for themselves these past few days. Amidst talk of the possible dangers of computer addiction (for the boy) and overeating (for the girl), here I am pondering the question that has probably plagued any mother at one point or another: Am I doing the right thing in raising them?
I don't know if my own mother ever asked this of herself way back when the five of us were growing up and giving her hell, but I now realize that among us I am probably the one who caused her the most sleepless nights like this.
Thinking back, I now know that the person I am has been shaped by some very significant events in my childhood. They were not some tragic incidents that split my psyche into two, rather they are distinct memories that gave me an everlasting impression of my world.
OBSESSION – I was not aware that this word existed when I first experienced obsession. I was around five years old when my childhood bestfriend (who lives across the street, and still does) and I discovered the wondrous plant called Kamantigue. It had a poppy flower that when opened would curl like a shell in our palms, and when we discovered that it could be attached to our earlobes we were hooked. Voila, instant earrings!
We scoured the entire neighbourhood for that damn plant and it dictated all my waking moments. I would look around for kamantigue like a crazy alcoholic needing a fix. No matter where I would go, my eyes would scan the area and look for the colourful kamantigue flowers that would carry these heaven-sent poppies. It did not matter that after a day my beautiful shell earrings would stink and grow slimy in my palms, I wanted that kamantigue and by God, I will have them. I can still recall riding a tricycle on the way to Sunday Mass and screaming like a banshee for the driver to stop because I saw a profusion of kamantigue flowers by the roadside. I earned a pinch from my mother, but my father who spoiled me rotten (God bless his patient soul), calmly told the driver to stop so that I could pick the kamantigue buds.
Once, at the height of this kamantigue madness, I was able to convince my best friend to go wandering in our neighbourhood to look for kamantigue. We walked and walked and ended up about five streets away from our home. (When I was young, I was forbidden to even go to the street next to ours, we live on the 7th, and we walked till the 12th st) I was in high heavens as I plucked the poppies to my heart's content, ignoring my friend's urging to go back home because we have already wandered far from our houses. The sudden downpour that drenched both of us that day while I was out harvesting new earrings amidst threats of dogs and angry garden owners (yes, I was trespassing) did not diminish the joy I felt. However coming home like a drowned puppy, with a skirt full of kamantigue buds and getting spanked thrice for driving my mama crazy with worry still make me wince and rub my butt up to this day. Lesson learned: It's good to want something and DO anything to get it, but one has to be ready to make stinging sacrifices for it.
GONE IN SIXTY SECONDS. My early childhood consisted of my mother curbing my hyper activeness and being told to stay indoors. Being diagnosed with a heart murmur at four years old did not in any way stop me from doing what the doctor specifically forbade me to do like running, jumping and getting overexcited. Whenever my parents would leave, my four older siblings would be in charge of my welfare, and way back then for them to do that was short of putting me in a cage.
One afternoon, I was able to convince my best friend’s brother to play superheroes in our backyard. My friend was on vacation that day and her brother was playing Superman (complete with a lampin cape) outside their fence. He and I both donned lampin capes and we ran around my house incessantly. My brother would bellow for me to stop and I would duck so that he would not see me. The minute his back was turned, I would run again. On a particular turn I tripped and fell and bham! I felt something hard hit my forehead. The pain did not register at first and I remember putting my palm up to my forehead and feeling something warm and sticky. When I looked at my hand it was filled with blood and I froze in shock. I split my forehead and seeing all the blood that must have been trickling over my face, my playmate screamed to the high heavens and ran all the way home. All my siblings rushed outside to see my front shirt soaked in blood and standing frozen to the spot. I don't recall what exactly followed after that, but I do remember my brother crooning for me not to cry and that I would be alright as he wiped the blood with his shirt. My parents arrived and I was brought to the family doctor who gave me nine stitches. I remember my mother being paler than usual and my father being angry. It's funny though, I don’t recall being afraid of the injury that day, but I was more worried that my friend's brother would no longer play with me. I was right, he never did again. Lesson learned: Safety and harm is but a hair’s breath away. This made me appreciate the times I spend with my kids more. Rolling in bed and making faces with each other has become a favourite pastime between me and my two children. I am realistic enough to accept the fact that I can never shield them from all harm, but I am hoping that what I am building with them now will make them strong enough to withstand anything their future will hold.
THE WORLD FROM THE BOTTOM UP. Things indeed look different when viewed from a different perspective. I had my second brush with death (the first was a vehicular accident on my fifth birthday) when I was seven. My best friend and I were still in our adventure mode and that year our favourite hangout was the vacant house behind their abode. It had a wooden gate that looked like slim crayons glued side by side and it was our favourite dare to climb over that gate again and again. I guess we felt that it would build our muscles or something, but for no particular reason we would both race towards that gate and climb it as fast as we could.
On my third climb, I felt something pull at my knitted shorts and before I knew it, I turned upside down. In my haste, the end of my shorts got stuck in one of the pointy ends of that wooden gate and stopped my landing. My friend screamed as my feet raised up way over my head and I saw the ground quickly rise up to smash my face. About a foot from that collision, I stopped moving downwards because heaven help knitted wear, my shorts held me suspended on air. I could hear her screaming as I looked at her red slippers, unable to process what had happened. I guess somebody up there was looking after me that day because recalling it now I realized how close I was to complete disaster. You would think that that particular instance would cure me of my desire to climb things? Nope. I still continued to climb any height that I encountered until I grew bored with the activity. Lesson learned: Being suspended on air made me see that the tiniest flowering plants can grow out of cement cracks. Putting these tiny things in sharp focus made me realize that sometimes, when I am so high up there in my belief in myself, I fail to see that how my actions could affect others. I will never know how I scared my friend that day, I only knew that she hugged me as fiercely as she could as we both tried not to cry on the way home.
ANIMAL INSTINCT. I was not a tomboy, in spite the fact that I basically grew up sporting a boy's haircut. Due to a misguided sense of fashion, I thought it was the epitome of cool to sport a hairdo known way back then as “Siete”. The hairstyle aptly named because my hair was cut with seven-like precision over my earlobes. Had I not worn earrings, I would have forever been called “nonoy” (little boy) by people I have met.
Anyway, in spite of my boyish haircut and reed like structure, I felt like the greatest athlete in the world when I entered my elementary years. I could race like a boy, kick a ball like any of them and with the exception of engaging in fistfights, I felt that I could take on any of the opposite sex on any dare.
My childhood nemesis was an obnoxious boy (may he rest in peace, and may he not pull my leg) who would taunt me whenever our paths would cross. I have now forgotten what caused the animosity between us, but what I can recall until now is how much I hated him way back then. The feeling was mutual because I know for a fact that he hated me too. He had his own circle of friends and I had mine, and being classmates we would often come to heated words. I don't know what idiotic reasoning I had back then but I started bringing a breadknife in my school bag after a particularly nasty encounter I had with him. We reached a turning point when we were in grade four (I was ten, he was twelve) and we fought like cats (literally). The teacher went out to join an emergency conference with the principal and our class was left with seatwork. I don't remember what started the fight but I now recall pushing my enemy as hard as I could as he taunted me. He was a much bigger boy and my efforts only drew laughter from our classmates because when he pushed me back, I stumbled and landed on my butt on the floor. My friends urged me to stop and look for our teacher but I saw red when my fanny hit the cold cement. I jumped at his back and pulled his hair till his eyes crossed. He fought like a boy and in seconds I was again flat on my back. Remembering the breadknife I carried on my bag I quickly grabbed it and brandished it on his face. My rage was such that I felt like an animal, intent only on doing damage. Upon seeing my weapon he withdraw and quickly climbed on top of a deskchair. I did the same and to this day I could still feel the adrenalin rush I felt as I chased him around that classroom on top of our deskchairs, breadknife raised like Joan of Arc. The fight ended when he ran out of the room and went home.
Our teacher never found out about it, because when she got back, my classmates had already rearranged the chairs and school things that spilled on the floor. The next day, my nemesis did not speak to me again in any manner until we graduated in elementary. Lesson learned: ANYONE is capable of inflicting great harm when pushed to the edge; underneath, we are all animals operating on instinct when the situation calls for it. It's not a particularly pleasant lesson to learn, and I am not proud of what I did, but this incident drove me to extend my patience as far as I could whenever faced with heated situation. I never wanted to feel such burning rage that consumed my ten-year old self ever again. I got a good look at myself in my inner mirror that day, and I did not like what I saw.
INVINCIBILITY. When I was eleven, I was considered one of the tallest and the skinniest in my class but nobody could say that I backed out from anything. It became a daily habit of mine to sneak out right after lunchtime and go to the seaside at the back of our elementary school. The school was protected by a seawall about six feet tall and every afternoon for an entire year, my friends and I would traipse for an hour on top of that seawall between 12 and 1PM. We would run like mad on top of the seawall, oblivious to the danger of falling in rocks below the water. I remember how happy I was as the wind whipped my hair back and the sea spray stung my eyes whenever I would dash on top of that seawall as fast as my spindly legs would allow. One afternoon, the waves were particularly strong and they crashed against the seawall fiercely. My friends and I continued our daily walk on top of the structure. One of them shouted “Jump” after spotting a really huge incoming wave, and all my friends followed on instinct, except me. I thought I was smart, you see, so I ducked behind the short rise of the seawall, thinking my friends were such ninnies. I thought the seawall was high enough to protect me and I did not want the hassle of jumping down from it and climbing back again.
Whoosh! The big wave spilled over and drenched me from the top of my short hair down to my knee socks. I remember standing on top of that seawall dripping wet as my friends rolled on the sand below laughing their hearts out. When all of our handkerchiefs were wet from wiping my entire self, I knew I had no choice but to sneak back in my mother's classroom and get my jacket.
It was about 30 degrees that day, and I spent the entire afternoon wearing that damn jacket like I did not have a care in the world. I was dying of the heat, but I had to smile and say I'm fine to anybody who asked me if I was feeling sick. Did I learn my lesson that day? Nope, I still went back day after day after day that year and I only stopped when I slipped and fell on my back on the slippery slope of that seawall. If I saw myself I would have probably laughed until tears fell. It was that funny according to my classmates who saw my fall. One minute I was skipping along the slippery seawall incline, the next they saw my feet go straight up, with my skirt flying in the air as I flipped. For a minute I was so winded I could not speak and my friends had to shake me so hard before I regained the facility to do so. For the second time, my jacket was my saviour that year, for who could attend her classes with a wet back filled with sea moss? Lesson finally learned: Seawalls are there for a reason. In life, in both work and play, boundaries are being set for us to be able to control our most stupid inclinations and prevent us from making the biggest mistakes. I don't know if that hard fall had caused an irreparable damage to my spine, but five years ago I started feeling backaches which led to a diagnosis of non-progressive scoliosis. Could be a coincidence, could be not. One thing I know, is that I will never ever think that I am smarter than the majority ever again.
I now admit, I was a horrible child to raise and I can only appreciate the struggle my mother have had in coping up with my foolish adventures through the years. It is testament to her inner strength that I grew up to be independent, flexible and well-adjusted in spite of my many insecurities physically. Had she tried harder to protect me from all these things that I did without her knowledge, perhaps, I would have never gained the courage to try new things and accept whatever challenge life threw my way. I would have grown up as a very cautious girl who would forever have regrets for not taking advantage of the wondrous experience of growing up.
So now, as I look at my sleeping children, I say to myself: I am not sure if I am doing the right thing, but as long as I see their eyes sparkle with happiness when they feel joyful, I'll be like my mother. I'll let them be. I'll be there to wipe their tears and their snots and apply band-aid to their skinned knees, but I will never hold them back from exploring their world as it is today. I guess in the long run, the best gift I can give them is a childhood as rich with memories as mine.
RDC
July 20, 2011
5:15AM
It's 3AM, and I can't sleep.
My quick trip to the bathroom turned out to be a curse. For unknown reasons, my mind refused to go back to sleep and instead is flashing back to my childhood memories in vivid detail.
I guess this stems from the fact that I have been pondering the kind of childhood memories my own children are making for themselves these past few days. Amidst talk of the possible dangers of computer addiction (for the boy) and overeating (for the girl), here I am pondering the question that has probably plagued any mother at one point or another: Am I doing the right thing in raising them?
I don't know if my own mother ever asked this of herself way back when the five of us were growing up and giving her hell, but I now realize that among us I am probably the one who caused her the most sleepless nights like this.
Thinking back, I now know that the person I am has been shaped by some very significant events in my childhood. They were not some tragic incidents that split my psyche into two, rather they are distinct memories that gave me an everlasting impression of my world.
OBSESSION – I was not aware that this word existed when I first experienced obsession. I was around five years old when my childhood bestfriend (who lives across the street, and still does) and I discovered the wondrous plant called Kamantigue. It had a poppy flower that when opened would curl like a shell in our palms, and when we discovered that it could be attached to our earlobes we were hooked. Voila, instant earrings!
We scoured the entire neighbourhood for that damn plant and it dictated all my waking moments. I would look around for kamantigue like a crazy alcoholic needing a fix. No matter where I would go, my eyes would scan the area and look for the colourful kamantigue flowers that would carry these heaven-sent poppies. It did not matter that after a day my beautiful shell earrings would stink and grow slimy in my palms, I wanted that kamantigue and by God, I will have them. I can still recall riding a tricycle on the way to Sunday Mass and screaming like a banshee for the driver to stop because I saw a profusion of kamantigue flowers by the roadside. I earned a pinch from my mother, but my father who spoiled me rotten (God bless his patient soul), calmly told the driver to stop so that I could pick the kamantigue buds.
Once, at the height of this kamantigue madness, I was able to convince my best friend to go wandering in our neighbourhood to look for kamantigue. We walked and walked and ended up about five streets away from our home. (When I was young, I was forbidden to even go to the street next to ours, we live on the 7th, and we walked till the 12th st) I was in high heavens as I plucked the poppies to my heart's content, ignoring my friend's urging to go back home because we have already wandered far from our houses. The sudden downpour that drenched both of us that day while I was out harvesting new earrings amidst threats of dogs and angry garden owners (yes, I was trespassing) did not diminish the joy I felt. However coming home like a drowned puppy, with a skirt full of kamantigue buds and getting spanked thrice for driving my mama crazy with worry still make me wince and rub my butt up to this day. Lesson learned: It's good to want something and DO anything to get it, but one has to be ready to make stinging sacrifices for it.
GONE IN SIXTY SECONDS. My early childhood consisted of my mother curbing my hyper activeness and being told to stay indoors. Being diagnosed with a heart murmur at four years old did not in any way stop me from doing what the doctor specifically forbade me to do like running, jumping and getting overexcited. Whenever my parents would leave, my four older siblings would be in charge of my welfare, and way back then for them to do that was short of putting me in a cage.
One afternoon, I was able to convince my best friend’s brother to play superheroes in our backyard. My friend was on vacation that day and her brother was playing Superman (complete with a lampin cape) outside their fence. He and I both donned lampin capes and we ran around my house incessantly. My brother would bellow for me to stop and I would duck so that he would not see me. The minute his back was turned, I would run again. On a particular turn I tripped and fell and bham! I felt something hard hit my forehead. The pain did not register at first and I remember putting my palm up to my forehead and feeling something warm and sticky. When I looked at my hand it was filled with blood and I froze in shock. I split my forehead and seeing all the blood that must have been trickling over my face, my playmate screamed to the high heavens and ran all the way home. All my siblings rushed outside to see my front shirt soaked in blood and standing frozen to the spot. I don't recall what exactly followed after that, but I do remember my brother crooning for me not to cry and that I would be alright as he wiped the blood with his shirt. My parents arrived and I was brought to the family doctor who gave me nine stitches. I remember my mother being paler than usual and my father being angry. It's funny though, I don’t recall being afraid of the injury that day, but I was more worried that my friend's brother would no longer play with me. I was right, he never did again. Lesson learned: Safety and harm is but a hair’s breath away. This made me appreciate the times I spend with my kids more. Rolling in bed and making faces with each other has become a favourite pastime between me and my two children. I am realistic enough to accept the fact that I can never shield them from all harm, but I am hoping that what I am building with them now will make them strong enough to withstand anything their future will hold.
THE WORLD FROM THE BOTTOM UP. Things indeed look different when viewed from a different perspective. I had my second brush with death (the first was a vehicular accident on my fifth birthday) when I was seven. My best friend and I were still in our adventure mode and that year our favourite hangout was the vacant house behind their abode. It had a wooden gate that looked like slim crayons glued side by side and it was our favourite dare to climb over that gate again and again. I guess we felt that it would build our muscles or something, but for no particular reason we would both race towards that gate and climb it as fast as we could.
On my third climb, I felt something pull at my knitted shorts and before I knew it, I turned upside down. In my haste, the end of my shorts got stuck in one of the pointy ends of that wooden gate and stopped my landing. My friend screamed as my feet raised up way over my head and I saw the ground quickly rise up to smash my face. About a foot from that collision, I stopped moving downwards because heaven help knitted wear, my shorts held me suspended on air. I could hear her screaming as I looked at her red slippers, unable to process what had happened. I guess somebody up there was looking after me that day because recalling it now I realized how close I was to complete disaster. You would think that that particular instance would cure me of my desire to climb things? Nope. I still continued to climb any height that I encountered until I grew bored with the activity. Lesson learned: Being suspended on air made me see that the tiniest flowering plants can grow out of cement cracks. Putting these tiny things in sharp focus made me realize that sometimes, when I am so high up there in my belief in myself, I fail to see that how my actions could affect others. I will never know how I scared my friend that day, I only knew that she hugged me as fiercely as she could as we both tried not to cry on the way home.
ANIMAL INSTINCT. I was not a tomboy, in spite the fact that I basically grew up sporting a boy's haircut. Due to a misguided sense of fashion, I thought it was the epitome of cool to sport a hairdo known way back then as “Siete”. The hairstyle aptly named because my hair was cut with seven-like precision over my earlobes. Had I not worn earrings, I would have forever been called “nonoy” (little boy) by people I have met.
Anyway, in spite of my boyish haircut and reed like structure, I felt like the greatest athlete in the world when I entered my elementary years. I could race like a boy, kick a ball like any of them and with the exception of engaging in fistfights, I felt that I could take on any of the opposite sex on any dare.
My childhood nemesis was an obnoxious boy (may he rest in peace, and may he not pull my leg) who would taunt me whenever our paths would cross. I have now forgotten what caused the animosity between us, but what I can recall until now is how much I hated him way back then. The feeling was mutual because I know for a fact that he hated me too. He had his own circle of friends and I had mine, and being classmates we would often come to heated words. I don't know what idiotic reasoning I had back then but I started bringing a breadknife in my school bag after a particularly nasty encounter I had with him. We reached a turning point when we were in grade four (I was ten, he was twelve) and we fought like cats (literally). The teacher went out to join an emergency conference with the principal and our class was left with seatwork. I don't remember what started the fight but I now recall pushing my enemy as hard as I could as he taunted me. He was a much bigger boy and my efforts only drew laughter from our classmates because when he pushed me back, I stumbled and landed on my butt on the floor. My friends urged me to stop and look for our teacher but I saw red when my fanny hit the cold cement. I jumped at his back and pulled his hair till his eyes crossed. He fought like a boy and in seconds I was again flat on my back. Remembering the breadknife I carried on my bag I quickly grabbed it and brandished it on his face. My rage was such that I felt like an animal, intent only on doing damage. Upon seeing my weapon he withdraw and quickly climbed on top of a deskchair. I did the same and to this day I could still feel the adrenalin rush I felt as I chased him around that classroom on top of our deskchairs, breadknife raised like Joan of Arc. The fight ended when he ran out of the room and went home.
Our teacher never found out about it, because when she got back, my classmates had already rearranged the chairs and school things that spilled on the floor. The next day, my nemesis did not speak to me again in any manner until we graduated in elementary. Lesson learned: ANYONE is capable of inflicting great harm when pushed to the edge; underneath, we are all animals operating on instinct when the situation calls for it. It's not a particularly pleasant lesson to learn, and I am not proud of what I did, but this incident drove me to extend my patience as far as I could whenever faced with heated situation. I never wanted to feel such burning rage that consumed my ten-year old self ever again. I got a good look at myself in my inner mirror that day, and I did not like what I saw.
INVINCIBILITY. When I was eleven, I was considered one of the tallest and the skinniest in my class but nobody could say that I backed out from anything. It became a daily habit of mine to sneak out right after lunchtime and go to the seaside at the back of our elementary school. The school was protected by a seawall about six feet tall and every afternoon for an entire year, my friends and I would traipse for an hour on top of that seawall between 12 and 1PM. We would run like mad on top of the seawall, oblivious to the danger of falling in rocks below the water. I remember how happy I was as the wind whipped my hair back and the sea spray stung my eyes whenever I would dash on top of that seawall as fast as my spindly legs would allow. One afternoon, the waves were particularly strong and they crashed against the seawall fiercely. My friends and I continued our daily walk on top of the structure. One of them shouted “Jump” after spotting a really huge incoming wave, and all my friends followed on instinct, except me. I thought I was smart, you see, so I ducked behind the short rise of the seawall, thinking my friends were such ninnies. I thought the seawall was high enough to protect me and I did not want the hassle of jumping down from it and climbing back again.
Whoosh! The big wave spilled over and drenched me from the top of my short hair down to my knee socks. I remember standing on top of that seawall dripping wet as my friends rolled on the sand below laughing their hearts out. When all of our handkerchiefs were wet from wiping my entire self, I knew I had no choice but to sneak back in my mother's classroom and get my jacket.
It was about 30 degrees that day, and I spent the entire afternoon wearing that damn jacket like I did not have a care in the world. I was dying of the heat, but I had to smile and say I'm fine to anybody who asked me if I was feeling sick. Did I learn my lesson that day? Nope, I still went back day after day after day that year and I only stopped when I slipped and fell on my back on the slippery slope of that seawall. If I saw myself I would have probably laughed until tears fell. It was that funny according to my classmates who saw my fall. One minute I was skipping along the slippery seawall incline, the next they saw my feet go straight up, with my skirt flying in the air as I flipped. For a minute I was so winded I could not speak and my friends had to shake me so hard before I regained the facility to do so. For the second time, my jacket was my saviour that year, for who could attend her classes with a wet back filled with sea moss? Lesson finally learned: Seawalls are there for a reason. In life, in both work and play, boundaries are being set for us to be able to control our most stupid inclinations and prevent us from making the biggest mistakes. I don't know if that hard fall had caused an irreparable damage to my spine, but five years ago I started feeling backaches which led to a diagnosis of non-progressive scoliosis. Could be a coincidence, could be not. One thing I know, is that I will never ever think that I am smarter than the majority ever again.
I now admit, I was a horrible child to raise and I can only appreciate the struggle my mother have had in coping up with my foolish adventures through the years. It is testament to her inner strength that I grew up to be independent, flexible and well-adjusted in spite of my many insecurities physically. Had she tried harder to protect me from all these things that I did without her knowledge, perhaps, I would have never gained the courage to try new things and accept whatever challenge life threw my way. I would have grown up as a very cautious girl who would forever have regrets for not taking advantage of the wondrous experience of growing up.
So now, as I look at my sleeping children, I say to myself: I am not sure if I am doing the right thing, but as long as I see their eyes sparkle with happiness when they feel joyful, I'll be like my mother. I'll let them be. I'll be there to wipe their tears and their snots and apply band-aid to their skinned knees, but I will never hold them back from exploring their world as it is today. I guess in the long run, the best gift I can give them is a childhood as rich with memories as mine.
RDC
July 20, 2011
5:15AM
posted by tiks at 11:30 PM
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