When I was little, I used to bang my head against things. What kinds of things? I don't remember much. Odd, right? I do vividly remember repeatedly hitting my head on the sidewalk. Quite on purpose.
I was taking a bath in my parent's bathroom for some reason. I was about 6 or so. As I came out of the bathroom, I saw a plastic light up Santa Claus sitting next to my parent's dresser. I grabbed the plug, slid it into the outlet, and immediately learned the power of water and electricity. I got zapped, Santa got fried, and the outlet never worked again.
I was carrying wood around from the garage to the backyard when I was 5. Enthusiastic as I was back then, I was running as fast as my little feet would carry me. I tripped on something. When I hit the ground, my pinkie on my right hand bent and touched the back of my hand. Still being enthusiastic, I went in the house and put a band-aid on my sore, yet not bleeding, knuckle and went right back to playing. Mom took me to the doctor the next day when she saw it. Spent the next 6 weeks of school learning to write with my left hand.
When I was 11 or so, I peeled all the skin off the back of my left thigh when I was skateboarding down the side of Mount Trashmore. Yes, that is a real place. Seems when you've built up some speed and fall off the board while wearing shorts, skin peels rather easily. It's ok though, the gravel that replaced the skin was thicker anyway.
As I sit here remembering all these, and many many more, I am surprised I made it out of childhood alive. I had a lot of safe fun too but a lot of the things we did as kids would be absolutely shocking to today's parents and their overly protective ways.
It's not that mom always knew what we were doing. Oh, she thought she did. She'd tell us, "you'll never do anything I don't know about." Mom was a bit naive. She didn't realize the sheer stupidity 3 boys can come up with when left unsupervised. So, no, she didn't always know. But she did give us the freedom.
With my own children, I never expect that I know everything. I remember being a kid. The good and the bad. I've always just expected that my children would make some mistakes and I've tried to balance protecting them with giving them the freedom to make mistakes.
Thing is, for all the stupid things I have done, I have some great memories. When my children look back on their childhood, I want them to have those kinds of memories. Plus, no child should ever be deprived of telling their parents about all the shit they got away with when the parent's thought they were paying attention.
Oh so much fun when you get together after you've all left home. Sharing stories of "remember when you...oh that was hilarious". Meantime the parents look like they are having a stroke. Ah memories :)
ReplyDeleteLoved this post, Frank! Back in those days it was called being a child... our parents watched and worried, but not too much. And they didn't run for a lawyer every time their child tripped on the sidewalk or fell off a swing. Even the painful memories like these you noted as still good ones in their own way, life was an adventure every day as a child! And yup, telling your parents horror stories they didn't know is fun... until your children grow up and tell you theirs! My rule is that if you didn't die I really don't want to hear about it, I have enough gray hair as it is!
ReplyDeleteI'm thinking the banking the head on the crib issue might explain a lot of things! :-))
ReplyDelete