My New Perspective
It was plain old twisted: Although this good and playful memory always followed or led to something traumatic, I made a decision that I am going to take it for what it could have or should have been OR even was ~ a good childhood memory.
I was brought up in a Catholic family and attended a Catholic school.
In the second grade I had my First Communion where all the girls wore a
white dress and a veil. One day I sat in a little red wagon and was
pulled around the block. I don't remember wearing the dress that
day, but I do remember wearing the white veil. All of the kids in the
neighborhood, or at least those who lived on my street, attended my
"wedding" ceremony. It was really nice having all of that attention and being "the one" to be the bride. I don't remember other children in the neighborhood "getting married." Maybe they had their day too.
I also remember the day we got divorced. We had a mock court in someone's basement and we went through all of the motions. I suppose someone in the neighborhood had to have divorced parents, although I think being divorced in the sixties was pretty unheard of, especially among Catholic families. But how else would a bunch of kids know what divorce was and that it happened in a court room?
Triggers are not always bad. I have this one
trigger than always conjures the best memory ever of my childhood. Usually
the occurs in the late spring and on warm summer days. It is the smell
of freshly cut grass.
I believe in the spring it is the strongest since everybody is outside
mowing their lawn after a long wet and dark winter. On warm days,
during the summer, the air is thick and holds the scent of
yesteryear.
I remember yesteryear as if it were today: traveling north from Detroit to
Manistee, Michigan to my great-grandmother's farm. Although the trip
was made often, I keep one memory of the travel, one memory of country roads
and the farms along the way. I suppose the trip was fun because it was
such an adventure to be out of the city and to go to a place so different
than the daily experience. No city block, no school, no church.....
just acres and acres of farm land. Funny that I do not recall
their being any animals or crops on the farm--just a honey bucket (out
house) and the land that went on forever and ever.
The memory is always reinforced with a single snap shot taken of me with an
older brother, older sister and an uncle sipping Coke from a green glass
bottle. I look content and happy. I feel content and happy when
the scent of freshly cut grass fills my senses.
Last updated: 12/19/2005