As
I plan little outfits for Emmy’s doll, I try to think like a contemporary four-year-old.
Emmy’s doll needs outfits to which Emmy can relate – jeans and t-shirts,
warm-ups, pajamas, simple dresses, perhaps a swimsuit -- all with simple
fasteners she can manage herself. The process awakens my inner child, and I
think of things that happened yesterday – er, sixty years ago.
We
phoned son Yancey the other night. “How’s Emmy?” I asked.
“Emerson,”
said Yancey in a controlled but cross fatherly tone, “decided to color all over
her hands and feet after her bath tonight. I just finished washing her. I don’t
know what she was thinking.”
When
it was Emmy’s turn to talk, I asked her why she had colored her hands and feet.
“I don’t know,” she replied in the singsong voice we all know. Maybe because I
had been trying to think like a four-year-old, I could relate to her plight. These
episodes will happen from time to time as we grow up -- and even into adulthood. It was right for her
dad to be stern, of course, but at the same time I remembered being three,
four, five . . . and some of the dumb things I did . . .
When
I was a youngster, the broad front porch of our house was more than my playroom. It was my outdoor world. I rode
my tricycle back and forth across the front of the house, playing a little game
of “chicken” by riding ever closer to the steps.
My
mother would open the front door and sternly reprimand me. “Kathy, not so close
to the steps,” she would say, and then return to her work.
But
one day – the day of the big experiment -- the inevitable happened. I had been
thinking about it. (Yes, I did think about it.) I was sure I could ride my
trike right down those steps. In my mind’s eye, it went off like clockwork.
So,
I faced off with the front steps. Slowly, ever so slowly, I applied pressure to
the pedals and inched forward. So far so good. Mother hadn’t seen me. Then I
reached the point of no return, and the trike – Kathy and all – plummeted down
the steps.
My
mother was there in a flash, more angry than sympathetic, because that’s the
way my mother was. Above all, she took seriously her duty to teach, and she had
plenty to say. Though her words were angry, her touch was gentle.
My
husband tells me that indeed my experiment should have worked -- something
about a running start and keeping my weight to the back blah blah blah. Knowing
Mike’s history of accidents, I’m naturally skeptical of his assessment. As far
as I was concerned, it was a lesson learned the hard way, an important lesson
about gravity that translates today to “stay off motorcycles.”
I’m
sure that when my mother asked, “What were you thinking?” (and surely she asked
me that), I replied in a singsong voice, “I don’t know.” But I assure you, at the time I
had a plan. As adults we
may wonder what the kids are thinking when they do dumb things, but on the
other hand, if we seek out our inner child, we can relate. KW
[Photo 1: A pigeon-toed youngster, I wore special shoes and was encouraged to ride my trike in order to strengthen the arch of my foot. In winter that meant riding the trike in the living room or on the front porch.
Photo 2: This picture of the house was taken in 1987.
Photo 3: Mother and Daddy, January 1948, standing at the front steps. At that time -- and at the time of my experiment, the steps were rounded. In 1957, the steps were re-done and handrails added.]
6 comments:
When I was about 3, we lived in a house with front steps similar to yours, Kathy. I was told not to take my trike off the porch, but a 3 year has no concept of cause & effect. Their mantra is "Want it. Do it." And I did it. Rode, tumbled, flew off the porch. It was a bloody scene. My head hit the pavement. I was raced to the hospital, stitched up and I'm sure had "hell to pay." I only have the memory of my mother telling the story, because I don't remember the event. And she told me I was the "easy" child of her 3. Maybe after my trike launch, I gave up living recklessly.
Had to laugh at Mike's thoughts on a successful launch from the porch. How many 4 year olds do airborne or stairborn stunts & succeed?
Oh for a nickel for every time I went up and down those steps! :-)
I think you were incredibly brave--I don't think I would ever have thought of riding down the stairs.
Picture #2 seems to me more like 1967. I remember the house being decorated like that when I lived in Grangeville, during the period 1964 to 1976. We always seemed to have heavy, wet snow with a lot of fog. My job in early years was to shovel the walks.
Leah -- Sounds like your trip off the porch was worse than mine. I believe my upper lip was cut and there was some blood, but otherwise I wasn't badly hurt. My next stunt happened several years later when I tried to go down the slide headfirst at school. Two teachers were there to tell me never to do that. Again, the lesson I learned was that I don't have a lot of control in physical situations.
I don't think I was experienced enough to be brave, Chris. I wanted to see for myself that it couldn't be done.
And Chuck - This is a picture of the house that you took in 1987 when you and Joanne came for Christmas after Daddy passed on. This is the year that Shann put up the outside lights for Mother. He did a great job but didn't put up as many as Daddy might have. We didn't take a lot of pictures of just the house, and many of those I have aren't really good.
Yes, we always had snow in Orofino in the "old days." Since the house sat on a corner, shoveling the walks was a significant chore. Daddy took it seriously -- wanted the walks cleared early for his students. But then, clearing the walks is a responsibility of ownership.
Yep, that's my Kathy - a regular female Evil Knevil.
I remember once when I was about 3 or so pushing a license plate down on a sitting dog's tail knowing full well he was going to bite me. And I was right.
Yep, that's my Kathy - a regular female Evil Knevil.
I remember once when I was about 3 or so pushing a license plate down on a sitting dog's tail knowing full well he was going to bite me. And I was right.
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