Childhood Memories

My Little One is coming up on five years old. She began Kindergarten on Monday and absolutely loves it. In related news, she's extremely proud to show off that fact that she can tie her own shoes. For real! Her older classmates can't even do it. I don't think I could until I was probably eight! But she can. That's my girl.

Last night, it occurred to me that she is probably at the age where she will have some memories for the rest of her life. I believe girls/women have better recollection of early childhood then men. In fact, my mom claims to remember being in a crib. I'm not so sure about that but my wife says she remembers the death of her grandmother at four. I know that I have some memories from Kindergarten for sure.

I remember my best friend's mom walking us to the bus stop. Kids didn't get picked up outside their house door then like now. We walked maybe a block. One time, she gave me a Popcorn Ball. Such a treat then. She always had the coolest treats! I also remember her teaching me my left from right. For years, in my mind, I had to position myself on my street, in front of the Jarvis house, facing south and then I'd know that that side was my left since it was where I was standing when she taught me.

In school, I remember warm 1/2 pints of milk for snack. It went with two cookies but I think they set the milk out on a tray like an hour before snack time. It still tastes gross in my mind. Something about those cardboard containers made the milk taste warm in the best of circumstances, let alone leaving it out forever.

I remember a kid in school, T.L., lifting the teacher's skirt and we all got an eyeful of her white underwear. Believe me, it was a big deal. Go figure how a little boy would remember that. But I do.

I also remember that same teacher playing guitar and singing to us in class. I thought taht was so cool. Looking back, she was pretty hippy-ish. It was 1972 after all. I remember her ear being bandaged because her new puppy pulled her hoop earring through the skin. Ouch! But we all adored her and I was lucky enough to have her again in 2nd grade. Good old Mrs. D.

I also remember a trip to Disney, that same kid, T.L. barfing during math class, a girl wiping out off the glider breaking her arm with the subsequent ambulance and nudie pictures from a magazine stuck to the windows outside the school. Although, I'm pretty sure all of that took place after Kindergarten.

Lastly, I remember wanting to sleep in my parent's bed. Currently, we are weaning the Little One off coming in to "snuggle". We reason with her that "big girls sleep in their own bed all night". She's trying like crazy and buying into the program. She so much wants to be a big girl. But she gets scared. Mrs. B. and I are trying to stick to our guns but we don't really mind her in our bed so much. Of course, when she wakes me out of a cold sleep and I'm too groggy to get up with her, it seems easier to just let her climb up. We're working on it though.

I did the same thing at that age. I remember being scared and tapping lightly on my parent's door. "Mommy? Can I come in?" as I opened the door a crack. My dad would groan a bit. But they usually let me. I remember pattering my feetie jammies over to their seemingly huge bed. Looking back, I think it was only queen sized though. I remember the room always smelled like a mix of Chanel No. 5, baby powder and oil. Industrial, machine oil; not motor oil. To this day, those smells make me think of my parents. My mom had some "expensive" cologne for going out and my dad worked in a machine shop. The stainless steel always had a slight hint of oil on it and he naturally assumed the odor. Perhaps its not pleasant to some. But it was and is to me. Always will be.

So, I'd lie there between them. My mom always on her back, with one arm above her head in a Scarlett O'Hara drama pose as if she's about to faint. And my dad, always on his side, in light-colored PJ pants with no underwear underneath (yeef!) and a plain white tee shirt.

I'm not sure at what age, but I also remember lying in my own bed and hearing their headboard squeaking like crazy one night. My dad must have gotten up to try to fix it, because the squeaking turned into a banging against my wall. That was my dad, always fixing something. I couldn't hear words, but my mom was moaning a bit too. No doubt she was mad at being awakened. Eventually, he got it fixed because all sound stopped rather abruptly. Good thing, too. I was starting to feel scared.

I wonder what my little one will remember.