Memory is a way of holding on to the things you love, the things you are, the things you never want to lose. ~ Kevin Arnold
My childhood memories are numerous; however, there is one in particular I would like to share with you today.
The first house I remember was on Laukahi Street, a steep mountain on Oahu, Hawaii. It wasn’t the house my family lived in when I was born, but I remember it as my first home.
The year was around 1965 and my recollection is a busy house full of adults and near adults coming and going doing things adults and teenagers do. While I was youngest girl of five children, the oldest girl and youngest boy were finishing high school, the oldest boy had enlisted and soon to be leaving for the military, and the middle boy was dating and carousing. Mom and my Dad (we all had different Dads, story for another day) were working and traveling.
My Mom’s family were frequent visitors and many family friends would come and go. We had the house where everyone came.
Playing cards seemed to be the social activity of choice. Eerily, if you saw the TV Show Mad Men, that’s the snapshot I see in my head when thinking of that time period. HA!
Needless to say, I needed to find my own entertainment. ::giggle::
Our next door neighbors had a pool, we did not. Even that young, water was my peaceful place. I have a vivid memory waking up one morning; the house was quiet; and I decided to go swimming.
I went into the backyard, climbed a tree, scaled the wall between the properties, and while standing on the wall proceeded to jump straight into the pool.
I couldn’t have been more than three years old; however, don’t worry because by that age I was quite the accomplished swimmer. My memory ends with me jumping into the pool. I’m not sure if I got away with it, or if I got into trouble. Either way, my memory is one of adventure.
That adventurous feeling and spirit carries through to this day.
Tomorrow, I’ll share my guilty pleasure.
Peace Out, Biz