Visions of my Childhood
I often wonder where all of the things have gone that belong to the visions that I remember from my childhood. I wonder if some of them still exist, or if they’re alive only in my memory.
There was so much to see, the colors, the textures, the blended sights. How perfectly they fit into the day. How perfectly they just seemed to fit.
The way the morning sun reflected off the window pane in my bedroom, The way the woodpecker hung upside down in the maple tree out front, the faded white of the post and rail fence that ran along our driveway, the way the full moon seemed to smile as it rose up over Bracket Street, the way everything seemed to fit.
I loved the look of the new fallen snow in the field across the street. I loved the way the sunlight shimmered through the icicles hanging from the garage roof. I loved how inviting the empty rope swing looked as it hung down over the flowing river at Pine Point. I loved looking down the cement wall at the North Gorham swimming hole. I loved looking down the shore at Old Orchard Beach from the breakwater, a mile away. I loved the way my empty sixth grade classroom looked as I peered in through the window during Summer Recreation. So many feelings went so well with so many sights. So many emotions flowed right along with so many wonderful visions. They seemed to go hand in hand.
Where are they all?
A late May field full of fresh dandelions, waiting to be popped, a snow drift waiting for a shovel, a sand pile begging for a Tonka Truck, a Speedway Sled waiting for a hill full of snow, a maple tree in the front yard, begging to be climbed, an empty clothes line hollering for some wet laundry, a lonely deck of cards on the kitchen table, begging for a shuffle, an Archie comic book, waiting just for me. I can still see them, but they’re all gone.
I loved the look of a crate full of October apples on our kitchen floor. I loved the look of a freshly painted center line on a newly paved road. I loved the sight of a bowl full of melted butter next to a plate full of steamed clams. I loved the way the gravel pit looked as I slid down into it on its icy road. I loved looking down the rows of new corn, peeking their heads out of the mid June soil. I stared with wonder as the huge watering wheels worked their way through Daigle’s thirsty potato fields. I smiled when I looked towards home as I rounded third.
My new Schwinn sting ray bike, my new Converse All Stars, my first baseball glove, my Aunt Leona’s smile, my crew cut in the mirror, the swing set out back by the hill, the single apple tree in the field, the headlights of the cars as they rounded the corner, a fresh stick of butter just before the first ear of corn, a snowmobile track in the middle of February, the way the turtle heads popped up out of the lake as soon as it started to rain, the smile on my father’s face when I rolled a strike. I can’t touch any of them, but it feels like they’re still there.
I know the times have changed, and I realize that the visions are but a glimpse of what used to be.
I will always be forever grateful that the memories I have will forever be there, forever helping me to see.