We were kind of poor when I was little… government cheese, shopping at thrift stores for new school clothes, health department doctors and dentists… the whole bit. Fortunately, I was a very happy child, blissfully unaware of what we didn’t have. I remember Christmas mornings very clearly. We were fortunate enough to get actual presents, but stockings were a different story. Our stockings were actually Dad’s old tube socks that Santa would fill with apples, oranges, rolls of pennies, packs of Wrigley’s gum, and various other cheap gifts, and I can still remember the joy of turning that sock upside down and feeling the contents slide out against the cloth underneath my hand, and being inordinately happy to have, all to myself, those things that were usually kept in the kitchen and shared.
So, obviously, you won’t expect me to say that my favorite toy was my pricey princess power wheels car (how's that for alliteration?) or my shiny blue huffy bike with streamers or my red ryder bb gun. In fact, I actually don’t remember getting any one toy that I was just nuts about. The thing that stands out most in my mind is being in third grade and getting a wonderfully, beautifully, inspirationally blank hardback book. It was all white. White cover, white binding, white pages with no restrictive lines. I was thrilled beyond belief. The options were almost crippling. I fantasized for months about what to do with this book. Journal?—too risky. Sketchbook?—too informal. Book?—perfect, of course. So I agonized for a few more months about what to write, until I finally decided that I would just set the book aside and save for a really (really) great idea.
I eventually did write a children’s book and had a friend of mine illustrate it for me. It was a lovely process. But I think I had that blank book for several years before actually taking action. I’m sure there’s potential there for some meaningful life metaphor… something about indecision or potential or something. But I’ll keep my theories to myself and leave some room for your own psychoanalysis.
What I do know is that there is still nothing quite as satisfying as a fresh, blank notebook, a smooth ball point pen, and a mind swirling with ideas.
3 comments:
Julie,
I just had a conversation with Deb in regards to the fact that I, too, had no "special" toy that I can remember. When I was younger, my family did not have much money either. For quite some time I thought we had a huge garden just for fun, not to feed the family...duh.
I was one in a family of six. And, although I did have a stocking, I got gum and rolled coins too! I thought I was the only one. For the most part, I remember sharing toys with my siblings. My true love was being outdoors and singing to our cows! I played with worms, rocks, and sticks. Really.
When you write that"the options were almost crippling," you sound just like a text on 3rd wave feminism. Yes, an "inspirationally blank hardback book" would be a lovely metaphor for many of us, I'm sure.
I remember accompanying my parents to the local dump when they dropped off trash, and finding toys there to take home. Not the most sanitary thing in the world, but hey, it was free! The only thing I really ever kept long-term was a little blue football. Ah, shopping at the dump :D
You're like me when it comes to blank books, it sounds like. For me to really love them, they can have no lines!
You're awesome people, Julie. Truly.
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