When I was a child, life was a charmed and magical time. The Earth was an infinitely huge and mysterious place. There were animals and beautiful foreign lands, mysterious and undiscovered to entice a young child's imagination. There were no satellites in the sky, which lately I've mistaken for stars. No one ever imagined calling Europe or the other side of the country. People still sent telegrams, wrote letters, delighted at receiving letters. I can still see my mother dancing in delight as she read a letter from her older brother who lived in New Jersey. It was like receiving a Christmas present to her.
While Lake Erie in those days was miserably polluted, and we were only beginning to sack our precious Mother Earth in ways that today we're paying for with our lives and the lives of the animals, there was still some innocence. There were no computers, no cell phones, only some people had televisions and there wasn't even color television yet.
We played at each other's houses. We walked to school. We had snow wars and built igloos and had forts or club houses in the bushes. One lucky kid had a tree house his dad built for him. Sometimes he let us go up there. We played outside in the snow or in the yard, or in the trees, everywhere, imagining our days away together. We were our Mother Earth's children, playing on her as kittens roll and play together beside their mother cat.
There was so much joy in the little things. We cooked our own meals; there was no McDonald's, no pizza delivery - not even chicken wings, yet. We made our own clothes, stretching fabric down the upstairs hall to cut out patterns. In high school we laughed and walked that tight line between getting good grades in school and finding time to be with our friends. I remember stretching the (curly turquoize blue) phone line down the hall into our room (my sister and I shared a room) squeezing the door shut over it and gabbing for hours until our dad would call up the stairs to free up the line.
I remember ice skating on the Buffalo Creek with my sisters and parents until late into the winter afternoon as it began to snow lightly around us. I don't know if I ever wanted to be anything special, but spinning around there in that kind of wonderland on ice, working on my figure 8s - I felt so happy and free. There were no haunting fears about employment or illness or anything larger than the moment. It was all perfect then - there was just the snow and the gliding across the ice even after the sun set. When I go back home, I think one of the first things I'm going to do is hit the ice again, even there at the creek (near the Buffalo Casino). Who cares if it's illegal now.
Along with so many of the things we sacrificed to adulthood, slowly and unaware, many of us gave up our dreams. We imagined being sailors or dancers, warrior kings or marauding tribesmen, or courageous leaders, bravely standing down the enemy. We girls dreamed of living in castles or being gracious, kind ladies who would help the orphaned children or entertain leaders of foreign nations, who would wear their native costumes, and we ours. We would cook their cuisine and they would tell us about their countries, their arts, their stories. We would love them. They would love us.
We often told each other our dreams, buried in the igloo or played them out at each other's houses or around the neighborhood. In fact, in a funny sort of way we all knew each other by our dreams. We always knew that David would grow up to be a lawyer because he made all the rules for the clubhouse. He did become a lawyer and later ran, and won, a seat on the Buffalo Common Council.
Where have our dreams gone? Do you still dream of being a Renaissance Knight who would save your country from invading enemies? Do you still dream of even being that knight you just know you had to have been in a previous life?
By now, you probably realize that you're never going to be that brave andnoble Renaissance knight, nor will I ever entertain a king or queen and listen to their stories about their people, or wear their national costumes. You might never be a courageous strong fireman or a dainty ballerina. We have lost some of our innocence and our dreams were washed away, leaving us to face the world of our parents, a world we never ever wanted, but found ourselves in anyway.
But, if you try, you can remember your dreams. And, while you know you will never actually be that brave knight, you can still privately in your mind, pretend that you are him. And, you can pretend that you are that courageous fireman. We can call back up into our memories the quality of those dream people we were going to be and model ourselves today on those people we were going to be back then.
In your mind, put on the knights armor, take your lady's hankie for good luck, get on your steed (even if it's a Lincoln or a Harley) and be in your heart that man or woman you were always going to be. Call back to yourself the spirit of your childhood dream self. In a way, when you embrace the child you were, you reconnect to your own innocence and live into the person you always wanted to be. As you reconnect to your childhood self, you tune back into your own uniquely precious, rich, imagination, where a big piece of your own heart and soul still lives, waiting for you to return.
And, while you're not riding your bike down the street with a cape attached to the back of your pajamas, you've just gotta know that in your heart you still have that same genius, enthusiasm and flair for the wonderful and imaginal you had back then.
We played at each other's houses. We walked to school. We had snow wars and built igloos and had forts or club houses in the bushes. One lucky kid had a tree house his dad built for him. Sometimes he let us go up there. We played outside in the snow or in the yard, or in the trees, everywhere, imagining our days away together. We were our Mother Earth's children, playing on her as kittens roll and play together beside their mother cat.
There was so much joy in the little things. We cooked our own meals; there was no McDonald's, no pizza delivery - not even chicken wings, yet. We made our own clothes, stretching fabric down the upstairs hall to cut out patterns. In high school we laughed and walked that tight line between getting good grades in school and finding time to be with our friends. I remember stretching the (curly turquoize blue) phone line down the hall into our room (my sister and I shared a room) squeezing the door shut over it and gabbing for hours until our dad would call up the stairs to free up the line.
I remember ice skating on the Buffalo Creek with my sisters and parents until late into the winter afternoon as it began to snow lightly around us. I don't know if I ever wanted to be anything special, but spinning around there in that kind of wonderland on ice, working on my figure 8s - I felt so happy and free. There were no haunting fears about employment or illness or anything larger than the moment. It was all perfect then - there was just the snow and the gliding across the ice even after the sun set. When I go back home, I think one of the first things I'm going to do is hit the ice again, even there at the creek (near the Buffalo Casino). Who cares if it's illegal now.
Along with so many of the things we sacrificed to adulthood, slowly and unaware, many of us gave up our dreams. We imagined being sailors or dancers, warrior kings or marauding tribesmen, or courageous leaders, bravely standing down the enemy. We girls dreamed of living in castles or being gracious, kind ladies who would help the orphaned children or entertain leaders of foreign nations, who would wear their native costumes, and we ours. We would cook their cuisine and they would tell us about their countries, their arts, their stories. We would love them. They would love us.
We often told each other our dreams, buried in the igloo or played them out at each other's houses or around the neighborhood. In fact, in a funny sort of way we all knew each other by our dreams. We always knew that David would grow up to be a lawyer because he made all the rules for the clubhouse. He did become a lawyer and later ran, and won, a seat on the Buffalo Common Council.
Where have our dreams gone? Do you still dream of being a Renaissance Knight who would save your country from invading enemies? Do you still dream of even being that knight you just know you had to have been in a previous life?
By now, you probably realize that you're never going to be that brave and
But, if you try, you can remember your dreams. And, while you know you will never actually be that brave knight, you can still privately in your mind, pretend that you are him. And, you can pretend that you are that courageous fireman. We can call back up into our memories the quality of those dream people we were going to be and model ourselves today on those people we were going to be back then.
In your mind, put on the knights armor, take your lady's hankie for good luck, get on your steed (even if it's a Lincoln or a Harley) and be in your heart that man or woman you were always going to be. Call back to yourself the spirit of your childhood dream self. In a way, when you embrace the child you were, you reconnect to your own innocence and live into the person you always wanted to be. As you reconnect to your childhood self, you tune back into your own uniquely precious, rich, imagination, where a big piece of your own heart and soul still lives, waiting for you to return.
And, while you're not riding your bike down the street with a cape attached to the back of your pajamas, you've just gotta know that in your heart you still have that same genius, enthusiasm and flair for the wonderful and imaginal you had back then.
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