If you read my blogs, you probably notice something odd. Some blogs are filled with fun and laughter, while others are absolutely sober and tragic. It's almost like they're written by different people, but they're not.
My childhood was awful. My childhood was lovely...
My family was abusive and damaging. What good times we had...
These are all true and I'm not even crazy.
The Center for Disease Control and Prevention maintains a list of social, economic, family and other circumstances that indicate a high probability that a youth will engage in crime, violence, drugs and other risky behaviors. They list 31 risk factors, and generally speaking, you're considered high risk if you identify with six of them. I had 23.
There are also "protective factors" which indicate that risky behavior is less likely. Out of 20, I had 5. But there were only two that mattered.
I didn't want to be bad, get in trouble or make my mother cry. This is classified as "intolerant attitude toward deviance." And I believed God was watching me. This is classified as "religiosity." I didn't want to rebel, so I never did.
I never did anything to make my life unhappy-er, but what was it that made it happy? Where did I get my joyful memories?
Play.
We had chores, but we played. I had no friends, but I played. Any time I got a chance, I was playing, and I mean deep, creative, imaginative pretend play. We had few toys, but we became wool merchants using dryer lint. We climbed trees and our home was a palace. We built tree houses and climbed aboard a pirate ship. With a teacup from the kitchen, we made enough mud cookies to stock the pantry shelves. We bought and sold using leaves for currency.
My brothers saved up and bought GI Joe's and we dug canals, forts, trenches and swimming pools for them in the backyard. My sister wrapped small sticks in fabric to make dolls. When we had Barbie dolls, they were usually naked, so we sewed clothes for them.
We dammed up the rain gutter to make a large puddle. We built play houses. We taught the dog tricks. We went for walks, played in the sprinklers, climbed on the roof and cooked giant messes in the kitchen. We dug a giant hole in the side yard and filled it with water from the hose. We covered it with a board and hid the dirt in the garden. We dressed up in whatever we could find; sheets, shawls, pillows, hats, curtains and old dresses and jackets. And where we went, our ragdolls went too.
We picnicked at home, camped in the backyard, (jumped the fence to "steal" the neighbor's peaches--he said we could!) danced in the rain, sang all the time, raided the fridge and shot BB guns at green army men. We even made our own bows and arrows, our own wooden swords, used trash can lids as shields and played war games. We hung up sheets and blankets and built tents in our room. We made up silly Limericks. We read books, as many as we could get. We counted the stars, blew dandelions, skipped stones, ran races and whistled. We made up skits, told funny jokes and our tea parties were disastrously lovely.
We were in charge. We were fairies. We were the police.We were doctors, detectives, soldiers and queens. We were orphans, mermaids, cowboys and Lost Boys. We were Indians. (A lot.) And we were families; parents and children. We were rich as a sultan and poor as a mite. We could be anything. We could have anything.
We lived and played simply, but we imagined richly. What could be more enchanting?
Yes, there were bad things. Really, REALLY bad things that happened. Things that require therapy, things I'm angry about even still. But playtime is not one of them.
I am happy today and I know how to have fun. I'm grateful for the hours of beauty that were granted me, that saved me. And I know what kind of childhood I want to give my kids.
There will be love, There will be kisses, and stories and forgiveness and chances and freedom and God, and there. will. be. MUD.
