childhood

‘…he thinks, and knows it’s just a dawn thought, and after-dreaming thought. But it’s nice to think so for awhile in the morning’s clean silence, to think that childhood has it’s own sweet secrets and confirms mortality, and that mortality defines all courage and love. To think that all that looks forward must also look back, and that each life makes its own imitation of immortality: a wheel. Or so [he] sometimes thinks on those early mornings after dreaming, when he almost remembers his childhood, and the friends with whom he shared it…’

- Stephen King ‘It’

A post by Femme Fontanelle made me think of my childhood; and before you all hastily click on to whatever site you were planning on visiting next, think about your childhood, be it good, bad, indifferent, exciting, full of mystery, whatever. My family lived in a close-nit, small, middle class suburb North of Sydney. I was lucky enough to have two elder brothers, who gave me guidance and wisdom in some form or another, and lots of friends my age to challenge it. Nonetheless, the security blanket of past experience provided by them allowed me to find my place in the world with relative ease.

Our street and neighbourhood was very much like a soap opera set, and it wasto a certain extent. The street was made up of families with children all around our age; so weeknights (until 5pm when Mum would ring a bell to call us in for dinner) were spent with the neighbourhood children getting up to mischief. Weekends were our own and from Friday evening until late on Sunday we would be roaming the suburb or exploring deep into the national park. On the warm summer evenings we would stay out late and play ’spotlight’, ‘wreck the A’ (whose rules are so obscure and faded in history that I can’t really explain them) or sit in someone’s rumpus room watching videos occasionally pretending we were playing musical instruments to whatever late 80’s hit was going round – the soundtrack to our lives.

We were fortunate in that bordering our back fence was 500 square kilometres of native bushland, which formed out extended back yard. Many afternoons, days, evenings were spent walking it’s narrow paths a stick held in front of you to snag the inevitable massive spiderwebs. There was nothing like spending 8 hours trekking through the bush, occasionally traversing and wading through eel infested waters (yes really), dodging ‘the big kids’ and finally staging a raid on the local Girl Guides camp to bring people together. There were many days when we would be running screaming through the undergrowth, breathless with excitement, arms and legs leaden with adrenaline, whilst a caretaker screamed after us in an old beaten up truck. We knew the paths of the national park almost blindfolded so we could always lose him in the trees, but not completely, because it was much more thrilling to be hiding metres away, gasping quietly hearing him rant and swear threats into the ether. We never did get into anything seriously destructive. Accidentally but stupidly, breaking a despised neighbour’s window as a teenager. The occasional rock fight and pranks on hated members of the street were as serious as it got.

I would never be so cliched as to say they were the best years of my life, because they weren’t, they were just good years. Don’t get me wrong, my childhood was great, but like many others it was punctuated with horrible terms like ‘divorce’. It wasn’t just my family either. We watched as other families, friends of ours, ebbed and flowed with the relationships of their parents. The street was in a state of flux, some families came and went, some family members changed and sadly others stayed the same. We witnessed it all with our child’s eyes. We held hushed discussions at night sitting in the middle of our cul-de-sac. The wonderful thing about being a child, is that one is never given credit for one’s intelligence. It is presumed that you see but you don’t understand. We witnessed the burgeoning relationship between the spouses of two different families. We knew their meeting schedule as well as they did. We flew under their radar. It was years before it became ‘public’ but it was old news to us.

I think the best thing about my childhood was that some lifelong friendships have evolved from it. We knew each other from birth and have grown up together facing life’s challenges along the way. Some have fallen by the wayside, others have moved on to bigger and better things, or just had kids and started the cycle again. We laughed. We knew each other’s houses as well as our own. The street was ours, we were invincible. I miss that feeling of indestructibility. I miss the lack of consequences and the ability to forget which day of the week it was, without worrying that I have been drinking too much or have had a minor stroke. Most of all I miss my friends as they were, carefree, rambunctious, naive, old, innocent and loyal.

~ by Dr Ben on May 30, 2007.