How much of the childhood does an adult remember? I've asked my dad questions about his childhood, and he seems to have very few specific memories of it. Incidentally, I asked him this approximately 20 years ago, and I still remember it. I remember feeling perplexed at how a person could forget their childhood and I remember feeling sad for my dad. I can however, as I grow older, understand how all those childhood memories fall out of the brain. Life is just complex as an adult, not much time is spent dwelling on things of childhood.
I read a book recently, non-fiction. One of the people in the book had a journal in which he would write down every memory that came to him from his life. Some were big, others as small as wearing a specific shirt on a specific day.
I have decided to start recording some of my childhood memories in my blog for future memory loss and generations to come.
Memory Journal #1:
Growing up in the Gilbert family included quite a few road trips. I guess that's pretty usual for most families, but one "usual" occurrence for these road trips might not be usual. When one of us kids needed to urinate, instead of driving to a rest stop or gas station my dad would just stop along the side of the highway and have us pee on the side of the road. In the 5-8 year old brain this equals "its okay to pee in public."
One day at school, I think second grade, I was in trouble for talking right before the lunch period. So as my punishment, the teacher let all the other boys and girls go to the restroom before lunch and recess. However, your's truly was excluded from such a "luxury" and was forced to hold it. First off, this is cruel and not an acceptable form of punishment. What did my teacher want to accomplish??? Did she want me to wet myself and be humiliated? I have no idea what she was thinking. But I knew what I was thinking. "Take away my bathroom break? I'll show you! I don't need your permission! I'll just pee on the playground. That'll teach her."
So, I did. I didn't find the most secluded place. I did turn my back to everyone else. But someone did see that I was urinating on the playground... and they reported me. I still remember who it was, though I don't remember her name. It was one of the twins, the more tom boyish one. The teacher on duty was a mean one. She was notorious for "the claw"... reportedly, she would put her finger nails on top of a child's head and dig those long nails deep into the flesh... she would slowly increase pressure until it hurt. Allegedly, on one occasion, she'd even drawn blood! (Kids and their stories!) So, this teacher interrogated me. But I held up... I didn't break under the pressure. I held on to my lie! I maintained my story of innocence.
The faculty finally dropped it. I was never punished. But for years afterwards I had a "shy bladder" and had difficulty starting a urine stream at "open" urinals in public bathrooms. Traumatizing.
David
I read a book recently, non-fiction. One of the people in the book had a journal in which he would write down every memory that came to him from his life. Some were big, others as small as wearing a specific shirt on a specific day.
I have decided to start recording some of my childhood memories in my blog for future memory loss and generations to come.
Memory Journal #1:
Growing up in the Gilbert family included quite a few road trips. I guess that's pretty usual for most families, but one "usual" occurrence for these road trips might not be usual. When one of us kids needed to urinate, instead of driving to a rest stop or gas station my dad would just stop along the side of the highway and have us pee on the side of the road. In the 5-8 year old brain this equals "its okay to pee in public."
One day at school, I think second grade, I was in trouble for talking right before the lunch period. So as my punishment, the teacher let all the other boys and girls go to the restroom before lunch and recess. However, your's truly was excluded from such a "luxury" and was forced to hold it. First off, this is cruel and not an acceptable form of punishment. What did my teacher want to accomplish??? Did she want me to wet myself and be humiliated? I have no idea what she was thinking. But I knew what I was thinking. "Take away my bathroom break? I'll show you! I don't need your permission! I'll just pee on the playground. That'll teach her."
So, I did. I didn't find the most secluded place. I did turn my back to everyone else. But someone did see that I was urinating on the playground... and they reported me. I still remember who it was, though I don't remember her name. It was one of the twins, the more tom boyish one. The teacher on duty was a mean one. She was notorious for "the claw"... reportedly, she would put her finger nails on top of a child's head and dig those long nails deep into the flesh... she would slowly increase pressure until it hurt. Allegedly, on one occasion, she'd even drawn blood! (Kids and their stories!) So, this teacher interrogated me. But I held up... I didn't break under the pressure. I held on to my lie! I maintained my story of innocence.
The faculty finally dropped it. I was never punished. But for years afterwards I had a "shy bladder" and had difficulty starting a urine stream at "open" urinals in public bathrooms. Traumatizing.
David
Marissa and Angie (the twins?) I'm pretty sure we went to elementary school together. I came upon your blog several months ago and enjoy reading your insight on life. Just thought I'd share.
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