Once upon a time….
Most of childhood is about once upon a time, there was a boy who lived in a village that no longer exists, in a house that no longer exists, on the edge of a forest that no longer exists where everything was discovered and everything was possible. A stick it could be a sword, the pebble a diamond the tree a castle. Once upon a time there lived a boy who lived in a house across a the field from a girl who no longer exists, they made up these thousand games. She was the queen and he was king. In the autumn light her hair shone like a crown, they collected the world in small handfuls, and when the sky grew dark they parted with leaves in their hair. Once upon a time there was a boy who loved a girl, and her laughter was question he wanted to spend his whole life answering.
I’ll share what i remember because memory is as close i have gotten to building my own time machine. sometimes I thing Julian Barnes is right, “memories of childhood are dreams that stayed with you after you woke.” Like those airplane luggage no matter where you travel and how long you need to last, you are allowed two bags. They are hazy collections, a diner in the moonlight, in the neighbour hood park, being pushed on the swing, being picked up and spun around, having mesmerized by a storyteller”—somehow I did not believe that it could carry me a lifetime
Like Edna St.Vincent Millay says childhood is not from birth to a certain at a certain age, the child is grown and puts away childish things. Childhood is a kingdom where nobody dies. Think for a minute darling in a fairy tale it’s the children who have the fine adventure. The mothers have to stay home and wait for the children to fly into the window.
My time machine gets activated with the K.L.Saigal song that meant we adjusted our watches to *8 AM time for us to leave home for school which was about a twenty minutes walk.
Even the romance of nostalgia has been plucked away since I started dealing tobacco addicts, it’s all about inner child, hurt inner child and healing it. I wonder why we do not celebrate what we had instead of yearning for what we imagined we did not have. Why don’t we reveal in the strength of the mentor instead of moaning the mutilation by the monsters.