Most of my childhood is a blur. What I do remember is not very pretty much of the time.
But I do remember some good things. I remember being happy sometimes. I remember feeling loved most of the time.
Childhood can be a difficult time. I remember being confused for some of it. I also remember being very different at home and at school.
I was freer at home. I have no idea why. I think I used up all the spunk I had with my family and went to school with the tank on empty.
I used to be so quiet that no one could hear me unless the entire class was silent. And I loved answering questions – I liked the feeling of being right, I think. I liked the affirmation that what I thought was correct was.
I wasn’t a popular child. I may even have been bullied but I never realized it at the time. How frustrating for those little bullies!
I was a teacher’s pet. That I do remember.
Oh, and I went to pieces when people shouted around me. That’s only true on very special occasions now and is limited to when people are shouting at me.
There are leftovers from that little girl, though. I still get a very distinct feeling when I think people are about to be mad at me. It feels like weight and pins and needles on the back of my neck.
Oh, and I don’t shout. I do interrupt people, but I’m working on that.
This post has run away with me. It was meant to be on the innocence of childhood. But, as I’ve been writing, I’ve realized that childhood wasn’t exactly innocent. It was less painful. But there wasn’t that much innocence in it. Not for long.