Every recess, my best friend and I ran to The Tree at the back of the playground. We circled it three times and entered our world. Sometimes we escaped a spider’s web. Other times we traveled a tight rope in a circus. We went somewhere together, as long as we walked around that tree.
In the summer, we met in the middle of our street with our bicycles: her bike was red and mine was blue. As soon as we got on them, though, we were no longer school girls but “cops and robbers” or “Gold Medal winners.” As long as we stayed on our bicycles, we went somewhere.
When my friend wasn’t available, my brother and I opened our basement door and walked down. When we reached the third step, we entered Ijona (“ee-john-a”), a world beyond the solar system where my brother was King (I think) and “table” meant “chair.” Sometimes, by the third step, waves would splash our toes. Other times, we searched for the exit in a three-story castle, facing all sorts of challenges on our way. We went somewhere, as long as we reached the third step.
Somehow, though, my worlds — our worlds — disappeared. I learned to drive. I went to college. I got married. I moved 16,000 miles (literally — I moved from Chicago to Australia).
I was going places in life.
And yet, as an adult, I no longer go anywhere. Three steps into the basement only take me three steps down.
I didn’t realize I was missing it.
Last week, my eight-month-old found his reflection in a three-inch metal fixture on his bathtub. One moment he was splashing by himself: the next minute another bald baby was laughing with him.
He was fascinated by the baby. I watched as he leaned forward and tried to push his yellow sailboat through to that other world: the other baby tried to share his yellow sailboat at the same time, and they were unable to share. No matter: my son was happy to giggle together.
Now, every time I put him in the bathtub, I think about his reflection-friend. Will he remember? Will he seek out that magical world that is just waiting to delight him? He’s just now entering a world of infinite creativity.
My days of going places may be past, but now I get to experience a world of creativity through my child. I’m so excited to watch him go places I can now only imagine.
To my son, my daily delight
(True response to June Write-Away Contest “Going Places” at Scribbit.)
You’ve put this into words so well–I’ve had similar feelings watching my children.
And seriously? Ijona? That’s terrific!
@Michelle at Scribbit:
My brother gets all the credit for creating Ijona and taking me there. (There is a reason that in my mind he was the king there….) Thanks for the prompt!
This is my first time on your blog and after just this post I think I’m hooked. I don’t have children and when my younger brother was born I was too old to experience those new worlds with him and too young to enjoy watching his discoveries. Your writing in this blog did an incredible job at reminding me of the places I created in my mind when I was young. These were buried under to do lists, heartbreaks, and boxes of “more important” memories in my mind. Thanks for taking me back there!
G
@GiGi: I’m so glad you enjoyed it. I love reliving memories through writing. Welcome to my blog. I’m going to go check yours out!
This brought back so many of my own childhood “places.” I’ve tried to take my children to those places but they have their own to go to. It is always fun to watch.
@Ice Cream:
That’s the sad thing I’m realizing: I can’t go there with him anymore! It’s his choice where ever he goes in his imagination. But I’m excited to watch him discover the world…
Hi there,
I enjoyed reading your post. I came across it via scribbit.
(The post I am submitting to the contest is here:
http://susanshomespunlife.blogspot.com/2008/05/many-years-ago-i-bought-volkswagen.html)
But reading your post reminds me of a poem I wrote about my brother, who died when we were kids, when I was 12 and he was 10.
http://susanshomespunlife.blogspot.com/2005/09/for-jimmy.html
Your post also reminds me of a time when we were at an outdoor wedding and there was this huge garden area, unlike anything I’ve ever seen since. It had some kind of bamboo or other thin trees and bushes and flowers. It was in Maryland, so I don’t think it would be bamboo.
Anyway, we entered our own little world as we played spies. We spied on the guests at the party and I vaguely recall that we pretended to be from outerspace.
Like you, those days can’t be relived with my brother, but I relive my childhood with and through my children.
Thanks for prompting the memories!
Susana
@Susana Baig:
It is great to watch children; I can see my boy will keep me young! I love the outerspace part–why oh why did we have to be from somewhere else?
I’m going to read your posts now. I’m sorry about your brother. I’m so glad memories can bring back some of that childhood joy!