Tag Archives: Childhood Stories

Wednesday Weekly Blogging Challenge: Something That Was Better When I Was a Kid

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A semi-opened laptop. It is in an otherwise pitch-black room, and the light from the screen is illuminating the keyboard with all sorts of soft, pastel colours. This is one of those topics that makes me wish I could take a peek at all of the other answers before publishing my own! Will most folks choose serious or frivolous answers, I wonder?

I’m going to bend the rules slightly and give two answers this week so that I won’t be out of place for giving a serious answer while everyone else bemoans the loss of their favourite snacks from decades past or for giving a lighthearted reply while everyone else soberly talks about recently extinct species of animals or something.

My Serious Answer: Winter

Winter was better when I was a kid because it was colder and snowier. This meant that there was more water to fill our aquifers when spring came and that fewer harmful species like ticks survived the deep freezes of that season.

Last winter was worryingly mild and dry in Ontario. We received less than half the usual amount of snow and some veterinarians here are now recommending that pet owners give their dogs tick medication year-round because they were still finding ticks on dogs in late December when the ground should have been far too frozen for any of those creatures to be crawling around, much less being alert enough to bite.

Climate change is here, and it’s rapidly affecting everything in our environment.

My Lighthearted Answer: Message Boards

I remember a time when there were active forums and message boards everywhere online for any topic you could imagine and probably many more for subjects you’d never think would have such numerous or devoted fans. Sometimes a thread would be started about a specific question and it would sit dormant for weeks or months until someone with the right knowledge discovered it, bumped it to the top, and answered it.

Social media is useful for a lot of other things, but it usually does not inspire deep conversations on niche interests that unfold over many years or reward people who are experts in their fields and genuinely know what they’re talking about.

I desperately miss having access to all of that knowledge and having the opportunity to add to it when I could.

If only we could experience both of these things thriving in 2024: social media for what is predominantly lighthearted, surface-level conversations and forums for people who want to dig deeply into a specific topic and either share their knowledge of it or become well-versed in it themselves.

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Wednesday Weekly Blogging Challenge: Something You Might Not Guess About Me

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While working on this post I was pleased to see that the painting American Gothic by Grant Wood is in the public domain now, so I can share it here before I share the recreation of it my parents did when one of my brothers and I were little.

This is the original painting:

The painting American Gothic by Grant Wood. This was created in 1930 and features two stern-looking white people who are standing in front of their farmhouse looking grumpy. The man is holding a pitchfork and wearing a white shirt and black jacket. The woman is wearing a black dress with a white collar, a red floral apron, and a little necklace around the collar that looks like the silhoutte of a person’s face. She has blond hair pulled back into a neat bun. He is mostly bald but has a fringe of grey hair on part of his head.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And this is my family’s recreation of it with two little kids who weren’t quite sure what was happening but were thrilled to be included:

 

Photo of two little white kids dressed up like 1930s farmers in imitation of the famous 1930 American Gothic painting by Grant Wood. The little boy, my brother, is wearing a black longsleeved shirt and a pair of overalls. he’s holding an old wooden rake. I am wearing a grey long-sleeved dress with a white pinafore over it and a red scarf around my neck. Someone also put a bit of rouge on my cheeks.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I have memories of the grownups asking us not to smile, but I also remember being happy to play along with their wishes. So, yes, we both look quite serious, but this was a fun experience for us. (Or at least it was for me!  This brother of mine can speak for himself if he so desires to and still remembers that day. He was pretty young when it happened).

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Top Ten Tuesday: Top Ten Books I Was “Forced” to Read


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I’m going all the way back to 2013 for this freebie throwback topic. Top Ten Books I Was “Forced” to Read is about books one was assigned to read in book clubs, English classes, the workplace, and similar places. 

Photo of an opened book sitting on a desk in a sunny room. The book has about a half dozen little coloured pieces of paper stuck in it as bookmarks, perhaps to make studying easier?Other than a few rare exceptions (ahem, see #3 on this list which is something I will never revisit), I found something enjoyable about every book I was assigned to read from Elementary school all the way up through university. Some of them even became favourite titles and/or authors of mine!

Here is an assortment of titles my teachers included in their syllabi:

1. To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee

2. The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton

3.The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald

4. Lord of the Flies by William Golding

5.Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck

6. Number the Stars by Lois Lowry

7. The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne

8. Island of the Blue Dolphins by Scott O’Dell

9.Beowulf by Unknown

10. Tuck Everlasting by Natalie Babbitt

How did you feel about your assigned reads in school?

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Wednesday Weekly Blogging Challenge: Things I Totally Misunderstood as a Kid

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Photo of a few hundred dollars bills crumpled up in the hands of a light-skinned person. The bills look like a bird’s nest. In the background of the image you can see a forest floor. Here are a few fun stories about things I misunderstood as a kid.

Story #1

There was a wooden box in the foyer of the church my family attended. I saw someone put money into it when I was about 3 or 4 years old and asked my parents what that person was doing.

”They’re giving it to God,” was the reply. As God was somewhere up in the sky so far as I knew, I wasn’t sure how the money was going to make it from that box all the way up past the clouds.

After thinking about it for a while, I decided the church ushers probably unlocked the box, took the money outside, and threw it up really high so God could catch it once everyone had cleared the parking lot and it was safe to stand out there for a while.

 

Story #2

”My doctor recommends Dr. Pepper” is a phrase that has echoed through my head since I was five. Did I see it on a commercial or billboard somewhere? Did someone tell it to me jokingly? I feel like I might have seen it on an old poster, possibly by the community swimming pool, but I don’t know if that part of the memory is accurate.

What I do remember is being very suspicious of any doctor who thought soda was something you should drink every day. He or she couldn’t possibly have known what they were talking about in my concrete 5-year-old worldview.

 

Story #3

My parents were making spaghetti and talking about prom in our family kitchen one evening. They disapproved of the things teenagers did after prom.

“What will they be doing?” I asked. I was about 5 at the time.

”Oh, acting like they’re married,” my parents said. What they meant is that there might be premarital sex after the dance, something that was strictly forbidden in our church.

But what I thought was, “what’s wrong with making spaghetti? Maybe they’re really hungry after all of that dancing?”

 

Story #4

Drug Abuse Resistance Education, or D.A.R.E, was an American educational program that teaches elementary-aged students about the dangers of drugs, alcohol, and cigarettes in the hope that it would prevent them using any of those substances when they grew older. (So far as I can tell, it’s rarely taught these days although similar programs are still around).

I happened to switch schools at exactly the right stage in life to miss out on being part of this program. My old school gave these presentations to sixth graders, but I stopped attending it after the fifth grade due to a cross-country move my parents made that summer for a new job. The new school my family enrolled me in only taught it to fifth graders,  so little Lydia wasn’t eligible for it when she started the sixth grade that autumn.

My misunderstanding about the program was about its name. I thought each word in it signified a different step in the growth process:

First you did drugs.

Then came abuse.

Then came resistance to change.

Then came education and, I presumed, the end of the cycle and a healthier future.

It felt a little too dramatic in my mind, but I was sure the grownups had good intentions.

Honestly, I was about the last kid in the world who needed this class, though. No one in my family smoke, drank, or did drugs. Even when a few relatives dabbled in smoking cigarettes and drinking alcohol when I was older, they only did so socially and occasionally. Nobody was addicted or anything, and I grew up to have zero interest in anything other than the very rare strawberry margarita or something before I gave up even that tiny amount of alcohol as well.

That class may have been more meaningful for kids whose friends or relatives had substance use disorders, though. I was very lucky to grow up in a family that was not tempted by such things.

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Wednesday Weekly Blogging Challenge: Songs That Confused Me When I Was a Kid

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If anyone is interested in reading a great essay about how common sayings, phrases,  and even certain logos can be misunderstood, go check out Knowledge Is Power. France Is Bacon.

I normally avoid discussing sensitive topics like religion online, but I must bring it up today due to the sort of childhood I had.

A closeup photo of a mic in a mic stand on a stage. The lights from the upper portion of the stage make it impossible to see anything in the distance. As I’ve mentioned in previous posts, I was a preacher’s kid and was homeschooled for the first several years of elementary school.  The combination of these two things meant that I knew very little about secular pop culture until I was about eleven or twelve and my parents began gradually relaxing their rules about music, tv shows, and films.

(They were less strict about books for some reason, but even there I mostly read the classics, Bible stories, the Inspirational genre, and fairy tales until I was old enough to go to the library with less adult supervision and, ahem, bend the rules just a little bit by borrowing children’s ghost stories and Choose Your Own Adventure books. 😉 )

Therefore, I suspect that my first two answers might not be familiar to some of you. I mixed it up as much as possible and included secular music, too, to increase the odds of someone knowing at least one of my answers!

Apple Red Happiness

Apple Red Happiness is a kids’ worship song about the Fruits of the Spirit, which are a list of virtues from the New Testament. They include love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. 

What confused me about this song were all of the food references that had nothing at all to do with the topic at hand. What on Earth did food have to do with being kind or peaceful? I couldn’t figure it out, so I was always left feeling puzzled and a little hungry during this song.

 

I’m in the Lord’s Army 

I’m in the Lord’s Army is a kids’ worship song about committing to being in service of God that uses a lot of militaristic imagery to get its point across.

There were motions we were supposed to act out at specific portions of the song. For example, we’d pretend to pull the string back on a bow and shoot an arrow every time we heard the world artillery or pretend to hold a bridle and gallop like a horse every time we heard cavalry.

Given the large number of pacifist German Mennonite relatives I had, this song also utterly confused me. When I learned what metaphors were, I concluded that this was a metaphor….well, at least until I learned about the Crusades and other holy wars when I grew older. Then it was back to permanent confusion.

As protective as my parents were, though, some secular music did seep through.

 

Kissed By a Rose

I believe I heard Seal’s Kissed By a Rose on a radio that was playing in a store somewhere when I was a kid.

It sounded a little medieval to me and was nothing like I’d heard before. I loved it!. For several years I assumed that this song was hundreds of years old and had only recently been rediscovered and recorded for a new generation.

 

Stop! In the Name of Love 

One of my elementary school classmates would randomly sing Stop! In the Name of Love by The Supremes when we were at recess. (Or maybe some other artist did a cover of that song that I wasn’t aware of?)

I had never heard of this group before and had zero cultural context to understand what I was supposed to stop doing, what love had to do with it, or what other rules love might compel someone to follow in order to avoid breaking anyone’s heart. None of it made sense, and for many years I assumed that kid simply enjoyed making up silly things to sing that weren’t supposed to make any sense.

It also didn’t help that he only sang those five words over and over again and only occasionally included the next five (“before you break my heart”).  Maybe he didn’t know the rest of the lyrics and was secretly just as confused as I was?

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Wednesday Weekly Blogging Challenge: A Moment I Wish I Could Relive

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A photo of a soft pretzel. If I could relive one memory, it would be hanging out with my best friend Jill Scheiman.

Jill and I were inseparable in junior high and the beginning of high school. Both of us came from upper working class to lower middle class families, so we were used to having plenty of fun on a budget.

She loved music, sappy movies, and developing crushes on someone new every few months. I used to marvel at how easy it was for her to suddenly start liking someone because of how rare it was for me to do the same thing.  Her bedroom was filled with teen fashion magazines and home gym equipment whereas mine was filled with books and whatever secular music CDs I could afford to buy. I was quieter, more serious, and much less interested in romance as a genre or as a hobby than she was, but we both enjoyed finding the humorous moments in life whenever we could and talking about various nerdy things.

I wish we could spend another afternoon driving around aimlessly, going on the rambling walks we would sometimes take while we talked about everything, or enjoying some soft pretzels or slushies at the mall. We were both genuinely good kids who liked hanging out together. Giggling was about the most disruptive thing we could think to do.

(Well, other than the time that we toilet papered the car of one of our youth group leaders. With that being said, we also cleaned it all up afterwards, and the adults were amused, not annoyed, by our antics as this was many years before the famous toilet paper shortages of 2020 and they knew we didn’t mean any harm.)

They were never grand plans, but they were our plans. Even simple things in life are better if you have someone to do them with!

We mostly lost touch after she graduated from high school as she was a few years older than I was, but the last I heard about her was that she was married, had a couple of kids, and was studying to become a nurse. (She did not go straight on to college after her high school graduation, so this was later on in life).  I wish her and her family well.

But what I wouldn’t give to be a carefree kid with her again on a Sunday afternoon! Every few years I look her up online to see if I can find anything about what she’s up to these days. I haven’t had luck with that in a long time,  but I do keep trying. Maybe when we are old women we’ll have a chance to be silly again together. I included her last name in this post on purpose just in case she ever googles herself and stumbles across this message.

As an interesting aside, I recently read that today’s teenagers are much less likely to hang out at the mall than previous generations did. Some malls don’t allow unaccompanied minors to walk through them at all anymore, and other malls have gone out of business due to the Internet and cultural shifts. Almost anything can be ordered online these days, so plenty of shoppers of all ages have switched to that if they need a new book, t-shirt, or pair of shoes.

I wonder what Jill and I would have done if we were teenagers in 2024? Probably a lot of texting, social media stuff, and swapping memes, I’d guess.

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Wednesday Weekly Blogging Challenge: An Interesting Story About Family or Friends

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To give a little backstory first, my grandfather has been a farmer his entire life just like his father was before him. One of the problems with farming in certain parts of the Midwestern United States is that the land there used to be a giant swamp.

This means that anywhere from mild to much more serious flooding is common in certain low-lying areas and that they often have too much water for their crops instead of not enough. Stagnant pools of water are also a great place for mosquitoes to lay their eggs, so one must take note of that as well unless you want to become dinner for thousands of tiny little bloodsuckers.

Drainage pipes are one modern solution to this problem. My grandfather’s land is filled with them wherever he notices that he has too much water.

This is the tale of the white drainage pipe and the kids who protected it.

When my brothers and I were little, Grandpa installed a drainage pipe in his side yard. This was a little uncommon as most of his pipes were in his fields or by his barns in order to keep his crops and tools from being flooded out.

It was not a complicated job, but it was something that my siblings found fascinating. We were allowed to stand a safe distance away and observe part of the process. I have vague memories of it being muddy as they dug.

After the pipe had been placed and covered over with dirt and grass seeds again, Grandpa gave my brothers a very solemn and important assignment.

Two photos from the day when Grandpa dug the drainage ditch in his yard. In the left photo, you see a Caucasian girl with short, curly brown hair leaping over the drainage ditch. I’m probably about 5 or 6 years old in this photo. The ditch was maybe a foot or two deep and there are piles of soil on each side. I’m wearing a pink shirt, a red skirt, and white shoes that were somehow still clean despite all of the mud. I n the photo on the right, my little brother is standing next to our grandfather beside the ditcher. The ditcher had been painted red but the paint was fading. It was about 8 feet tall based on how much it towered over my already decently-sized height grandfather. Grandpa is a Caucasian man in about his 50s whose skin has been deeply tanned by a lifetime of working outdoors. He’s wearing a blue and white ball cap, a blue longsleeved work shirt, and a lighter blue pair of pants. My brother is also Caucasian, about 3 or 4 years old, and he wearing jeans and a yellow-tshirt, and has straight blond hair. Every time we came over to visit, they were to pour a little water in one end of the pipe and make sure it flowed out the other end into a nearby creek.

Some kids might have forgotten this duty after a time or two, but my siblings were not among them. Every time we visited, they would pour a little cup of water into the pipe and then we’d race down the hill with a nearby grownup to ensure grandpa’s pipe wasn’t plugged up.

This went on for multiple visits if my memory is correct. The pipe was always clear, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.

And now I chuckle at the cute memory and creative way to encourage the grandkids to burn off some energy and feel included before going indoors into our grandparents’ home.

(This post was edited to include a few family pictures I didn’t know existed from this time period. Look how big that ditcher was! And I’d forgotten that I jumped over the ditch).

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Wednesday Weekly Blogging Challenge: Hobbies I Used to Enjoy

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Welcome back, everyone!

Some of these answers may give clues about my age.  Here are four of the hobbies I used to enjoy but no longer participate in.

Tamagotchi

A photo of a Tamagotchi toy that was popular in the late 1990s and early 2000s. It’s made of pink plastic and has a tiny little screen where a pixelated pet can be seen sitting in the centre of the screen.

Photo credit: Tomasz Sienicki

This was a virtual pet that was wildly popular back at the turn of the century (Yes, I’m being a little tongue-in-cheek here).

I never actually bought one. Instead, my best friend gave hers to me after she  grew tired of it.

I spent  many happy hours over the summer keeping my Tamagotchi happy and healthy before passing it onto my siblings.

We must have given it to someone else after that, but I don’t remember who was the next lucky kid to play with it. Here’s hoping they loved it as much as we did.

Cycling

A teal bicycle that’s Ben chained to a no-parking sign on a quiet city street. The building behind the bicycle has been painted a beautiful shade of light pink. When I was a kid, I spent hours going on long bike rides over the summer.

My family lived in a housing development at the time, so the only traffic there was local. The streets were quiet and safe to ride on 99% of the time.

Once we moved into a small city, I only cycled on the residential streets close to my home as there weren’t any bike lanes on the main roads through town and they were far too busy to accommodate cyclists.

After I moved to the big city, I didn’t cycle at all because there weren’t any bike lanes to speak of at the time and it was terribly dangerous to ride alongside cars. There was also the problem of bike theft. You have to be quite careful about where you chain up your bike and how you chain it up here if you would like every part of it to still be there when you return.

Toronto has begun adding bike lanes to certain streets which has definitely improved the safety aspect of cycling here, but theft remains a big issue. I hope that changes someday as I really miss this form of exercise!

Poetry 

A closeup shot of pages in a book being flipped through rapidly. I used to love reading and writing poetry, but both of those hobbies faded away in my early 20s.

Despite several attempts to revive my interest in them, I’ve never been able to recapture the old magic of that experience.

Maybe when I am an old woman I will find one or both of them enjoyable again.

 

Picking Up Trash 

Close-up photo of a white person holding open a white canvas bag. Inside the bag are an assortment of glass and aluminum bottles. Okay, so I might need to explain this one a little.

I spent much of my childhood in rural places where there’s honestly not a great infrastructure for picking up trash that accidentally – or maybe purposefully – gets left behind.  Much of it would just sit there until a kind stranger picked it up, the county assigned people to pick it up as part of court-ordered community service, or a inmates did it on day release from the local jail in order to make a little money.

My family were among those private citizens who picked trash up without being legally required to do so. Sometimes mom and dad would turn it into a free date night activity for themselves. They’d leave us kids home for an hour or so, go clean up the neighbourhood or a local road, and talk about whatever it is grown-ups discuss when their children aren’t around.

I took note of how my parents behaved and would sometimes go out on my own trash-finding adventures. Most of the items I picked up would be soda cans, beer cans, or plastic bags.

In college, I took Ecology as one of my science credits, and one of our assignments was to clean up all of the trash by the side of the road next to our school. That was a fun project. We did it in March or April and found everything from broken toys to cassettes tapes to, I believe, a few Christmas decorations as well.

Toronto was such a clean city that I never got into the habit of doing that after I moved here. We have city employees who drive machines that suck up every the smallest pieces of trash here, so there was usually nothing to pick up.

That began to change when Covid happened. Unfortunately, most of the trash I see on the streets these days would be dangerous to pick up with bare hands. Think broken glass, used hypodermic needles, dirty masks, human or animal excrement, etc.  You don’t see it on every block or on every day, but it unfortunately is the sort of trash I’m seeing more often over time now.

If or when I begin seeing other sorts of trash in my area, I will start carrying a pair of gloves on me and once again keep things tidy.

 

 

 

 

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Wednesday Weekly Blogging Challenge: Like or Dislike True Crime? Why?

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A drawing of a magnifying glass that has a dark yellow handle. The glass is magnifying three fingerprints that are on a white background. Content warning: domestic violence and murder. I am only including details that are 100% necessary in order to understand my feelings about this topic.

I dislike True Crime because of:

1) the way this genre can exploit the victims of violent crimes and re-traumatize their loved ones by sharing these stories without consent,

2) how some True Crime programs exaggerate or even make up details about certain cases to make them more interesting,

3) how some True Crime programs lionize murderers and abusers,

4) which victims are and are not discussed. That is to say, pretty, young, straight, white women are far more likely to be featured on them from what I’ve observed. It feels deeply wrong to me to overlook people from other races, sexual orientations, ages, sexes, etc. for these stories. The grief all of their families and friends feel is the same no matter what the victim looked like or how they identified.

Now to dig into a more personal reason why I avoid this genre.

Someone I attended high school with was murdered by her abusive ex (who was also a student at our school) in front of their small children a few years after graduation. He is still incarcerated so far as I know.  Their kids survived and are safe with relatives now.

What happened to my classmate and her family was horrible. I think of her story every time I overhear discussions about this genre. I’m sure it feels like a harmless hobby for many fans, but a lot of True Crime stuff can take on a sinister tone if you have personal experiences with the topic and see how uninformed and unkind some folks can be about the cycle of abuse and how dangerous it is when a victim tries to leave.

I cringe when I hear people talk about what they would have done differently in certain cases or how they thought someone should behave when faced with a homicidal ex. It makes me feel like they’re dissecting a book or tv show instead of talking about the tragic deaths of innocent people who could have easily been any one of us instead.

If you’re going to consume this genre, please speak respectfully about the victims and be careful about the assumptions you make about what you would or would not do in their shoes. You may know far more people who have been through something similar than you think. Kindness and compassion are key.

There’s so much important work that can be done to reduce suffering in these situations. I wish the True Crime community would focus much more of their energy on crime prevention, assistance for victims of abuse and their loved ones, and honouring the dead in whatever ways they have the time and/or money to do so.

Wouldn’t it be a relief to live in a world where the True Crime genre comes to an end because there are no new murders for them to talk about?

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Wednesday Weekly Blogging Challenge: Something You Believed But Found Out Wasn’t True

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When I was seven, my parents moved our family a few thousand miles away from where we had previously been living. Since we were homeschooled at the time, my siblings and I didn’t have to say goodbye to classmates or teachers. We couldn’t bring all of our friends and relatives with us, though, so that was still an adjustment.

Cartoon image of a little girl who is holding a green umbrella and yellow satchel and wearing an orange raincoat. The wind is blowing against her so hard that her umbrella has been turned inside out!

Image credit: cromaconceptovisual

After we moved, I thought about my maternal grandmother a lot. In my WWBC karma post last month, I talked about how much everyone loves her.  She was (and still is) the quintessential grandma: gentle, kind, soothing, adores children, and will feed you warm, homemade chocolate chip cookies if you like them.

I was allowed to play or read as I pleased after our daily lessons were finished, so I had a generous amount of time to try to figure life out.

Sometimes when I missed my grandmother terribly and it was windy enough to carry sound* I’d stand on a local hill and yell loving messages to her.** I thought that maybe she could hear the faintest whisper of my words if I yelled loud enough and if the wind was blowing especially fast that day.

I imagined her bent over in her large, friendly garden harvesting corn or picking strawberries only to pause and wonder if she’d really heard her granddaughter yelling her name or if she was just imagining it. Perhaps she’d smile and blow me a kiss or yell back her own message, too.

It took another year or two for me to learn enough from my science textbooks to realize sound doesn’t work that way, but it was a comforting thought while it lasted.

*At that age I thought wind could somehow carry sounds long distances if you made your words strong and loud enough to last the entire journey. Don’t ask me how that was supposed to work!

** I apologize to any neighbours who may have been terribly confused by why a kid was loudly yelling “I love you, Grandma” and “I miss you, Grandma”  over and over again outside. Those messages were intended for her ears only.

(We moved back to her area several years later, so this tale has a happy ending).

 

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