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Friday, March 27, 2015

"Outside"

I vividly remember the first time I ran away from home.  Mom fell asleep on the couch while nursing my brother and I seized the opportunity. The screen door let the early spring breeze in, and I stood on my tip toes to unlatch it.  I listened to the birds and grasshoppers.  I felt damp spring grass under my bare feet.  I yearned to go to the river.  I tempted myself.  I went to the road and longed to cross it.  I leaned over it, testing the order of the universe, or maybe Mom's internal alert siren, if I disobeyed.

I knew my boundary was the road, but it’s not like there were any cars on it.  Nobody would come down that road for hours.  Maybe Mom would sleep for hours too?  She was tired since my brother cried in the night.  Maybe she wouldn't even notice I was gone?  I bounced up and down and finally decided to go for it.  I ran across Lutsch’s field in a joyous rush until I was snatched up and marched back to the house amidst a tirade of verbal abuse.  The heavy wooden door closed off the beauties of spring.

I made things with my wooden blocks and studied the wooden door.  No escape.  I wished Mom would let her guard down.  Wheedle her to let the spring breeze in again.  Suffer through her recitation of my escape to Dad when he came home from work.  He laughed.  We went to the river together.

Same string of events happened the next day.  Mom got louder.  Dad took me to the river.  Same thing the next day.  An extra catch was put on the screen door.  I figured out how to trip it with a block.  The more Mom tried to lock me up inside the more I wanted to escape.  I looked forward to diaper changing time because she couldn't hold my brother down and catch me at the same time.  Dad mostly laughed but told me to stay put.  I mostly didn’t.  Eventually the heavy wooden door was closed all the time until I cooperated.  Mostly.  I think Mom still holds a grudge about all of this.

I was unrepentant then, and I’m unrepentant still.  Outside is good.

My coworkers were talking the other day about how they don’t remember anything before they were 5 or 6.  One said she can only name 1 or 2 of her teachers from her entire education.  That’s amazing to me since I'm pretty sure I can name all of mine.  I found it amazing when I was in first grade and my classmates said pretty much the same thing about not remembering their pasts, and that was even more remarkable to me because then we were talking months having passed, not even years.  I determined that I would remember stuff, and I have.

I don’t really know what the value of remembering all this stuff is, but I’m glad that I do.  Sometimes it results in a blog post or remembering what it feels like to live inside a robust child’s body, and I think that's something we should all spend time thinking about once in a while.

This illustration was for a brochure, obviously on the topic of getting along with animals when they don't understand the boundaries between inside and outside.  I notice I placed the door handle kind of high.  Maybe my inner child will always see doors this way?  I wish I could find the original scratchboard piece but can't.  This is a scan from the actual brochure which isn't that good as it was printed on a rough kind of recycled paper with flecks of bark or something in it.

Happy birthday Mom!  Maybe not the story you would've picked for your birthday, but I gotta admit it makes me smile to think of escaping.
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21 comments:

  1. Wonderful how this prompt opened the door to this delightfully vivid memory! I am among those who don't remember their early childhood. However, given some of the stories I've later heard of what that time was like, I think this may be a blessing!

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    1. I sometimes wonder if any memory really goes away or if we just forget how to retrieve it. Maybe if you did remember your early days you'd remember it differently than the people who have told you about it? This is one of those things I sometimes spend a lot of time wondering about without any real point to it all :)

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  2. An illustrated closed door and unlocked childhood memories; a well done IF assignment for this week.

    You think artists remember more childhood scenes, musicians more childhood sounds and photographers more childhood pictures compared to others?
    I remember a lot.

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    1. I don't know if artists remember more visuals or musicians more sounds, but it's an interesting question. Inquiring minds would like to know though!

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  3. A great piece of art and interpretation! You certainly have a zest for life Linda and must have given your poor Mum some grey hairs. I'm sure she smiles now. My memories of being young were the freedom to go out with my brother exploring. He is 3 years older and in the 1960's it was accepted that children had freedom. In the holidays we would go out and only have to come back in time for tea at 5.30....we were like the Famous Five (well 2!) Fond memories thanks for making me remember. Happy birthday to your Mum x

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    1. You are right about that lost freedom to wander and explore, Jane. When I was young, there was one rule 'Be back at 6 for dinner'. We could go anywhere; heather fields, woodlands, and down town to our city centre. That freedom is lost. Such a great lost for children and teens.

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    2. Mom has fewer gray hairs and wrinkles than I do I think so I doubt I gave her any lasting damage. I had the same kinds of rules in the 60s as you did, get home by supper. I think kids lose out by not having as much freedom. I miss being able to run through the woods and river all day!

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  4. I love that you have such an vivid memory and always look forward to reading about your childhood adventures.

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  5. Your story makes me smile, too. I think children should be allowed to roam around free and wild. At times. That's the way to learn about the world and how to negotiate it. In addition I think keeping memories are good for many reasons. For one, it's our previous experiences that we build on today.

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    1. I have to agree that these past experiences are what this blog has been built upon at least. Thanks Otto! You always give me stuff to think about :)

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  6. sounds like your mom loved you and wanted you safe.
    she did her job.
    and you did yours.
    it's all good.

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    1. Not so sure Mom has the same equanimity about the rightness of all of this, but I enjoyed doing my part :)

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  7. Beautiful drawing, Linda. You were a feisty female even back then weren't you? :) Lucky you to have a Dad with humor and kindness. My own Dad was The Enforcer, and we all dreaded his arrival home from work after a day of "misbehaving." My own wild nature was creek beds and cement culverts...places the imagination could be safely unfurled. Wish you'd been there too: what adventures we could have had!! ♥

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    1. My dad was an enforcer too, but I think he related too much to my escapes to be strict with me about that. I'm sure we would've been best friends exploring Susan!

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  8. I will only go outside if there's nothing good on television.

    Which is never.

    Nice technique in your illustration.

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    1. I try to limit my tv to night which gives me time in the day to keep exploring :) Thanks Josh!

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  9. I love the illustration. And you do have an amazing memory. Outside is best. That's for darn sure.

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  10. Thanks Sharon! We can all have more outside as the weather warms up :)

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  11. Amazing story, I felt as if I were right there! And who could blame your Dad for laughing - your determination was admirable and hilarious :D The illo fits soperfectly, it really does have a nostalgic story book feel, as if from a child's perspective. Lovely :)

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  12. Thanks Nancy! Some day I'm going to run out of stories, but until that time happens... :)

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