Reflections of youth
First memory
My earliest memories are of my sister. I am barely old enough to pronounce her name, but I know to hold tightly to her canary yellow blouse as I travel the speed of light on the back of her banana seat. My excitement rushes out of me. Honeybees fleeing their hive and I want to go faster! The concrete beneath the tires glistened with jewels as we sped by with the urgency that is always youth.
Have to gone soon
When he was 5, he packed all his belongings into a red plush bunny named Duplo, which doubled as storage for his most beloved items: A few scratched plastic Legos, a Big-bird sing along cassette and his favorite books, The pokey little puppy and Where the sidewalk ends. He kept Duplo, by his side since he never knew when he was going to have to leave. By 6, he was obsessed with the written word. He became enchanted with creating circumstances that never happened. He was enamored with creating a reality that would allow him to be human. He started to memorize street names and hotel names and city names. He never knew if one of these streets or towns or buildings, would be his new home. The place Mom and dad would leave him when they found out what he was hiding. He knew not when or how the day would come. Only that it would.
Tree of knowledge
Alienation in and of itself was home to me. I refused to play sports of any kind. As soon as I stepped foot on the course I felt lost among the countless others, running, jumping, playing, and enjoying their activities. ‘Keep your eye on the ball,’ yet somehow I couldn’t. ‘Come on August, guard em’ guard em,’ course I didn’t have the faintest idea what the coach meant. I knew the other children were aggressive and limpid and that meant I didn’t want a thing to do with them. Amongst all child hood memories, I dreaded forced group interaction the most. I didn’t like the other kids seeing me up close; I didn’t like them testing my boundaries.
“You don’t know how to play football…Even my little sister knows how to play.”
To which I would dryly reply
“Maybe you should call her instead.”
My earliest memories are of my sister. I am barely old enough to pronounce her name, but I know to hold tightly to her canary yellow blouse as I travel the speed of light on the back of her banana seat. My excitement rushes out of me. Honeybees fleeing their hive and I want to go faster! The concrete beneath the tires glistened with jewels as we sped by with the urgency that is always youth.
Have to gone soon
When he was 5, he packed all his belongings into a red plush bunny named Duplo, which doubled as storage for his most beloved items: A few scratched plastic Legos, a Big-bird sing along cassette and his favorite books, The pokey little puppy and Where the sidewalk ends. He kept Duplo, by his side since he never knew when he was going to have to leave. By 6, he was obsessed with the written word. He became enchanted with creating circumstances that never happened. He was enamored with creating a reality that would allow him to be human. He started to memorize street names and hotel names and city names. He never knew if one of these streets or towns or buildings, would be his new home. The place Mom and dad would leave him when they found out what he was hiding. He knew not when or how the day would come. Only that it would.
Tree of knowledge
Alienation in and of itself was home to me. I refused to play sports of any kind. As soon as I stepped foot on the course I felt lost among the countless others, running, jumping, playing, and enjoying their activities. ‘Keep your eye on the ball,’ yet somehow I couldn’t. ‘Come on August, guard em’ guard em,’ course I didn’t have the faintest idea what the coach meant. I knew the other children were aggressive and limpid and that meant I didn’t want a thing to do with them. Amongst all child hood memories, I dreaded forced group interaction the most. I didn’t like the other kids seeing me up close; I didn’t like them testing my boundaries.
“You don’t know how to play football…Even my little sister knows how to play.”
To which I would dryly reply
“Maybe you should call her instead.”
posted by Charles Gipson at
3:11 PM
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