Five Things I Miss About Childhood

I got tagged with this by my great friend Laura  and I'm doing it as a special, one-time-only, don't-anybody-ever-tag-me-again-EVER favour.  In other words, because she's Laura and because I adaura I'm doing this faura - but hey!  No maura.

I'm not being snippy here and hope nobody thinks of me as a spoilsport, but the whole "tag" thing doesn't work for me because I have a certain amount of writing I have to do each week - deadlines to meet, subjects to stick to - and I want this blog to be about me being free to write anything I want as the muse whispers.  And honestly, every day that goes by after I've been tagged I sit there, feeling a familiar, self-imposed guilt, thinking "I should do my homework".  And I don't need one more piece of unfinished-work-related guilt.

For the same reason, I'm not tagging anybody else with this.  I think as memes go, this is more interesting and fun than most, which is, I am sure, why Laura tagged me with it.  If you want to comment or do your own list, I think that's great.  If not, just write something funny.

Five Things I Miss About Childhood

1.  Believing My Parents Were Invincible, Infallible, and All-Knowing

My Dad was an Air Force fighter pilot instructor.  He was strong, fit, quick-minded, well-read,  and knowledgeable on just about any topic.  Imagine being me on "Bring Your Parents Day" at school, when Tommy Pope's dad, the Insurance Adjuster, finished making his "What I do in a typical day" speech, and Billy Martin's dad, the Bank Manager, is getting ready to start his speech ... and my Dad strides into the room, late because he'd been flying a jet all morning and dressed in his flight suit with zippers up and down it and his flight helmet in hand and aviator sunglasses in place, and every kid in the room is going "Ohhhhhh ..."

Yeah, that was an OK feeling ...

My Mom was Chatelaine Magazine's Housewife of the Year in 1960.  For my American friends, Chatelaine Magazine is the Canadian equivalent of "Redbook" - a magazine for and about women.  And in 1960, women were mostly housewives.  So being Housewife of the Year (as comical as that sounds today) was a pretty damn big deal.

She earned it.  Six kids in nine years, and she made all our clothes, cooked, baked, had a half-acre vegetable garden, taught Sunday School ... did I mention six kids in nine years?

Because my Dad flew a lot, he was away a lot, and she'd soldier on: helping us with our homework; issuing discipline when it was needed; first aid and hugs when they were needed; doing remedial work with my brother, who was dyslexic; making sure everybody got to school and all their activities on time; and doing all this with grace and good humour and modesty.  When she was nominated for - then won - Chatelaine's Housewife of the Year, she was totally abashed, and insisted she was just one of millions of mothers doing the best they could.  She honestly and sincerely believed that.

So, you can see that growing up, I would look on my parents as gods:  they were utterly without fault, these pillars of strength that not only were the foundation of our family but of the community and the nation.  My Dad's job was to Protect The Country.  My Mom was the Best Housewife in the Country.  I was so damn proud of my Mom and Dad.

I still am.  But now, they're 83 and almost 80, respectively, and pretty much on the last few laps.  Mom - that woman who never rested until she worked herself into a case of tuberculosis and spent six months in the hospital a year after that damn award - is pretty frail now, and sometimes gets a bit confused.  Dad had a stroke a few years back that slowed him up, and two years ago they went in and fetched out a third of one of his lungs to catch the cancer in time.  (Stupid bugger went back to smoking.  Dude, a stroke and lung cancer.  It's God on the phone.)

I go and visit them now and I can see the vague imprints of the giants they once were.  I love them as they are, and never miss a chance to see them when I'm in or even flying over their part of the country. 

But I miss the giants.

2.  Having My Whole Life Ahead of Me.

I love being on the first tee at the golf course.  I stand there with a quiet confidence, knowing that this could well be the game of my life - that this might be the one where I put it all together - the tee shots all fly straight and far, the irons deadly accurate, every shot into the green landing like a lawn dart only a tap-in from a birdie, every putt rolling towards the hole as if it had eyes and a will of its own to disappear into the cup.

The thing is, I know that's possible, I know I have all the skills and all it takes is that little flicker of magic.  So I stand there on that first tee filled with hope and promise.

That's what it was like when I was 8 or 14 or 19 ... I was on that first tee.  It was all there in front of me.  The difference, of course, between "life" and "golf" is that with golf, I know (God willing) that I'll be golfing again tomorrow and the day after and the day after, so if I rip the first drive into the woods and take a triple bogey on #6 out of the water or the damn fox on #11 steals my ball ... well, I just come back the next day and start again. 

In life, you get one round, and no mulligans.

In life, I'd guess I'm on about the 12th hole.  I've put a few into the rough.  I've had a couple of great shots, but so far the putts haven't all dropped the way I'd have liked.  If I make a few adjustments, I can still salvage a decent score - and with luck and a perfect swing I can get a hole in one.  So it could still turn out to be a good day on the course.

But I miss having an empty scorecard, a clean white Titleist, and a bagful of hope.

3.  Trusting My Body

When I was a kid, I never gave a second thought to what time bombs might be ticking away in there.  I took up smoking to be cool at age 15.  I drank a lot.  I ate anything I wanted.  I didn't give a nanosecond's worth of thought to any of this, because I knew my body would handle it all, protect me, deal with the poisons I was putting into it.  And everything would be okay.

Cancer?  Not me.  Heart problems?  Nah.  Brain tumour?  Impossible.  My body and I had a deal:  I'll give you what you crave, and you just keep on keepin' on.

Wish I didn't know now what I didn't know then.

There are times now, at age 51, when I am acutely aware of my heart beating away in there.  Sometimes it almost feels like that little engine:  "I think I can, I think I can, I think I can ..."  I wonder if the arteries leading to it are - relatively - clean and open.  Or whether maybe there's one that's pinched in a bit, waiting for that last little bit of plaque to form, stopper it up, and cause a little telltale tingling in my left arm ...

... and from time to time, in the middle of an otherwise normal day, I feel all those signs ... a fleeting pain in my chest, probably a muscle spasm, sure, that's all it is, just a little tightening, nothing to worry about, don't let it cross your mind ...

... but it does cross my mind.

I don't really trust my body any more.  I know I betrayed it for a lot of years, and I wonder if one of these days it's going to say "Hey, pal ... payback's a bitch."

4.  Trusting The People in Charge.

I miss the certain knowledge that your government was being run by smart people with everybody's best interests at heart - incorruptible, honest, straight shooters who would do the right thing.

Well, in fact, that was never the case.  So it would be more accurate to say "I miss that delusion." 

Once again, Bob Seger had it nailed.

5.  Knowing Who the Good Guys Were

My brother and sisters and I would gather in front of the black and white Sylvania Television in the living room every Saturday to watch the westerns:  Roy Rogers, Gene Autry, Hopalong Cassidy, all our heroes.  I particularly liked The Rifleman, with Chuck Connors (because there was actually a character on that series named "Nils" - a prize if you can tell me his occupation).  My brother was partial to Steve MacQueen, the Bounty Hunter.  My sisters, of course, were big Dale Evans fans.

In those shows, you knew who the good guys were, and you knew who the bad guys were.  Sometimes they made it easy, and gave the good guys white hats and the bad guys wore black.  But you knew anyway, because what bad guys did was always bad, and good guys always did the right thing.

It ain't that way anymore.  I miss not knowing what team to cheer for.

                                                         *********************

So, there.  Five things I miss from when I was a kid.  I'm all depressed now.  But tonight I'm playing golf.  And this could be the game.

 

Comments

[suburban misfit]

Something funny.

(Actually, I'm depressed, too because I relate a little too well to everything you wrote.)

[whfropera]

isn't that the truth?
i might swap out one of them for a cleaner credit report...

[kristine]

I miss that place I lived in my head.

:)

[Bob in Accounting]

Hey! I'll have you know Insurance Adjuster's are not all dull and ordinary. We have lives too, man. I work 60 hours a week in this cubicle and if I wasn't so tired at the end of the week, i'd have more time to spend with my kids, too. After my wife makes me mow the lawn.
I'm gonna raise your rates for this post.

[Laura]

"Having My Whole Life Ahead of Me"
That WAS the best time of our lives, wasn't it. We just didn't know it at the time. I remember that feeling. 30 seemed old. 20 was invincible.
Now I see this in my kids, and I wish I could get them to understand these things. ahh well. They will have a good life if I have to beat it into them.

As for you, maybe you just need a whole new outlook on some things. As I'm always saying, the next 10 years haven't happened yet. Maybe you're just due for a change? Writing wise, you have a whole lot of miles yet to cover. :)

And about the meme: I knew you would put out a good one, and that it would be different then any other meme. and most of all, that it would be worthwhile reading. :)
smooches**

[Torrie]

I know you are a 51 year old man from Winnipeg and I'm an almost 29 year old woman from Manhattan, but sometimes I feel like we share the same brain.
(You'd get the short end of the stick in that deal.)

[Susie]

I don't like tags, memes, either. These were thoughtful, well-written and depressing. I have a doc's appt. tomorrow to check out crap that I wouldn't have paid any attention to even 5 years ago. But now it's frightening, just a little. Wow, with parents like those, you'd damn well better have made something of yourself. Is there a "rest of the story?" Did they worship Satan in the basement on Tuesday nights or something? They sound perfect.
I keep trying to think that there are lots of really good surprises left. And that does keep being true, at least in small ways.

[Nils]

I'm sometimes hesitant, in this world where so many people resent their parents or had less-than-perfect childhoods, to wax on about how idyllic mine was. But in fact, my parents, while flawed each in their own way, were pretty damn good at what they considered important - which was to raise their family. All six kids remain deeply devoted to them and to one another, and that says something.

People sometimes ask me where my sense of humour comes from, and I credit my parents. In our family, the lesson you learned early on was not to take yourself or anyone else very seriously. When my girls were growing up, I sometimes worried that they might not have a sense of humour - which, I would say, is about as tragic a disability as a person can have. Luckily, they are both hilarious, and best of all able to laugh at themselves.

So, no, there's no "rest of the story". They were perfect, loving, caring parents who encouraged the best from their kids. They picked us up when we fell, dusted us off, gave us a hug, smacked our asses and sent us back into the game, knowing they'd be cheering on the sidelines. I'm one of the lucky ones in this world, I know it, and I do my best to pass the luck along to my kids.

[Nils]

Hey, Torrie ... I'll share a brain with you any day. Bonus ... for both of us, it's low mileage ...

[Spurious Plum]

I still drink a lot...does that mean I'm still a kid at heart? Or at least, in my liver?

[Nils]

Ah, faux raisin ... you'll always be a kid to me. Does that make me Michael Jackson ...?

[Susie]

Then good for you, and them. It's good to know such people are still out there somewhere. My work makes me jaded, perhaps.

[Bucky Four-Eyes]

Aw, Nilbo, great post, but now you've got me all reflective and feelin' more than a twinge of regret for things I really wish I'd done and things I really wish I hadn't done.

Seger's always a good one when I'm in this kinda mood. We commiserate, Bob and I.

I might actually tackle this meme, if I don't find myself too stunningly depressed during the writing of same.

[Bucky Four-Eyes]

Whoa, did I scare everybody away with my pensiveness?
I can go back to absurdity, we swears on the Precious!

[lawbrat]

That was very beautiful and insightful. Parents are the first one to teach trust, love, discipline...Im very glad you have good ones. Just because they are the first, dosent mean you cant learn it later in life. You work with what you have, figure it out, and keep moving forward.

[some girl]

To me, memes are like those chain letters I use to get and they would fill me with fear and worry that my entire family would be hit by a bus. They make me anxious. That said, I almost cried at work when I read your first answer.

[Spurious Plum]

P.S. Never trust your body. It LIES.

[Torrie]

HAPPY FATHERS DAY!

[paula]

That might have depressed you, but I found it very uplifting. Your parents sound totally awesome.

I should stop blogging and go bake something.

[Laura]

Just how many rounds of golf do you have to play before you get over this depression and get around to updating? ;)

[Nils]

Four rounds in two days ... I'm exhausted. I'm keenly aware that there is a ceiling on sympathy for this particular brand of whining, so I'll say no more and update on Tuesday. Now stop nagging.

[MrsDoF]

Um, it's Tuesday in the evening.

[Nils]

(sigh) Still workin' on it ...

[Laura]

what the L are you writing about anyway? I put out a post a day, and i'm not even a professional writer. 'course, I am female, it comes easily for us.
i'mpausinghere,tomumbleaboutperfectionists...
can't you write about your dinner or some other obsecure, non-event in the meantime? or say.. uh.. golf. There ya go. Put out a paragraph about golf and you're good to go. I dare you to do it in one day.

[Garden hose]

I just recently began looking for new posts on the latest garden tips. Several of my top supplies were located by searching online. Although this story was not exactly what I was expecting It has several interesting gardening ideas!