I have been chatting back and forth on Facebook with some old friends from home. We all went to an old school in Colorado, Pinon Elementary, that many would have probably thought was from the days of horse and buggies. But we have such tender memories of the old place, and we were just sharing them. When I got off line, I just stayed in that mode, driving down Memory Lane, back to my childhood.
The old school had these wonderful wooden floors that were polished to perfection. I always wanted to just take off my shoes and go "skating" in my socks on them. And the smell of the wood polish hung in the air with the most wonderful aroma. The big old gym, the sacred old gym, used as the place for the locals to vote, for Christmas plays with all the mistakes and frivolity, and as a lunch room on rainy days, seemed to me the biggest place I had ever seen. The big old playground with that wonderful tether-ball, that I promised no one could beat me at, the swings that swung right up to the sky, and laughter that rang through the halls; the squeak of chalk on chalk board, the click of the prinicipal's heels on the wooden floor, every bit of it brings back a time that was the best in my life. A time where I was safe and loved, and everyone was my friend.
I do admit there were things I didn't like, such as Monty B trying to kiss me on the playground, and Mrs. A, the teacher/principal drowning my brain with fractions. But other than that, and a few hairy rides on the school bus in the winter snow, I can't remember too much that was unpleasant.
I went back years later, just to visit Mrs. A, and discovered some very strange things. The gym was no longer so very big. The desks, which used to be so roomy, were so tiny that I couldn't sit in one anymore, without scrunching up my knees under my chin. The playground that I used to fancy as wide open as the prairie was only about the size of a city lot. Things had shrunk, or I had grown, I wasn't sure which.
The same strange occurrence happened when I returned home for my class reunion in 2010. My hometown, in comparison to where I have lived the past 40 years, is a lot smaller than it used to be. Driving across town takes all of 5 minutes on the freeway, where before it seemed to take forever. Comparatively, it takes any where from 40 minutes to an hour to get all the way across town here in Tucson. But that was not all that had changed. Even the Rocky Mountains seemed smaller than I remember them, as did the hills I ran across and the river I played in.
And then I realized that what was wrong was not that things were smaller, but my perception of things had changed. When I was a child, everything was wonderful, magical,larger than life. Even the smallest of things brought an element of wonder to my life. But, when I became an adult, a lot of the magic left out the door, when trouble entered in. Things that were larger than life, that had overwhelmed me with their imposing presence, no longer impressed me as they had, because, to put it in a nutshell, I had lost my child like wonder. It is true, hard life can drive that out of the best person in no time flat. When I pondered this problem more, I found I could not just blame a hard life. The majority of the problem lay in the fact that I had given up the best part of my life, to get on with the necessary parts of my life. I cannot say I was the better for losing the wonder of it all.
I decided then and there, to find something to rejoice about every day. I can't say that, as of this writing, I have succeeded, but I am not going to give up trying. I will succeed at this just as I did at achieving a tether-ball game that no one could beat me at. I am making a promise to myself to recapture the wonder of childhood, and hold on to it until I am in the grave. And I am going to start right now, once again, by going to curl up with my favorite blankie and say my prayers. Perhaps that is where the wonder will really begin again. In the prayers from a heart that longs to be held in awe by the wonders of God's incredible world.
Photos of the Rocky Mountains, Near Rye Colorado and the Pueblo Dam and Reservoir.
The old school had these wonderful wooden floors that were polished to perfection. I always wanted to just take off my shoes and go "skating" in my socks on them. And the smell of the wood polish hung in the air with the most wonderful aroma. The big old gym, the sacred old gym, used as the place for the locals to vote, for Christmas plays with all the mistakes and frivolity, and as a lunch room on rainy days, seemed to me the biggest place I had ever seen. The big old playground with that wonderful tether-ball, that I promised no one could beat me at, the swings that swung right up to the sky, and laughter that rang through the halls; the squeak of chalk on chalk board, the click of the prinicipal's heels on the wooden floor, every bit of it brings back a time that was the best in my life. A time where I was safe and loved, and everyone was my friend.
I do admit there were things I didn't like, such as Monty B trying to kiss me on the playground, and Mrs. A, the teacher/principal drowning my brain with fractions. But other than that, and a few hairy rides on the school bus in the winter snow, I can't remember too much that was unpleasant.
I went back years later, just to visit Mrs. A, and discovered some very strange things. The gym was no longer so very big. The desks, which used to be so roomy, were so tiny that I couldn't sit in one anymore, without scrunching up my knees under my chin. The playground that I used to fancy as wide open as the prairie was only about the size of a city lot. Things had shrunk, or I had grown, I wasn't sure which.
The same strange occurrence happened when I returned home for my class reunion in 2010. My hometown, in comparison to where I have lived the past 40 years, is a lot smaller than it used to be. Driving across town takes all of 5 minutes on the freeway, where before it seemed to take forever. Comparatively, it takes any where from 40 minutes to an hour to get all the way across town here in Tucson. But that was not all that had changed. Even the Rocky Mountains seemed smaller than I remember them, as did the hills I ran across and the river I played in.
And then I realized that what was wrong was not that things were smaller, but my perception of things had changed. When I was a child, everything was wonderful, magical,larger than life. Even the smallest of things brought an element of wonder to my life. But, when I became an adult, a lot of the magic left out the door, when trouble entered in. Things that were larger than life, that had overwhelmed me with their imposing presence, no longer impressed me as they had, because, to put it in a nutshell, I had lost my child like wonder. It is true, hard life can drive that out of the best person in no time flat. When I pondered this problem more, I found I could not just blame a hard life. The majority of the problem lay in the fact that I had given up the best part of my life, to get on with the necessary parts of my life. I cannot say I was the better for losing the wonder of it all.
Photos of the Rocky Mountains, Near Rye Colorado and the Pueblo Dam and Reservoir.
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