Читать книгу Bedtime Stories for the Child in You - Louise D. Jewell - Страница 13

Photo of my first childhood home

I walked up to my first childhood home and introduced myself to the lady who answered the door.

“Would it be possible to view the inside of my childhood home?”

The lady of the house smiled and welcomed me in.

How in the world did Mom and Dad fit us all in here? All seven of us kids? The new owners had done significant renovations, both inside and out.

In my mind’s eye, I could still see:

 The linoleum on the living room floor, along with its green leaf pattern. I looked at the side wall where the couch used to be. That’s where Mom took her afternoon naps. I would lie behind her and wait for her to wake up so I could play.

 The single sink in the kitchen where Mom bathed my little brother and me. One at a time. When we got too big for the sink, we graduated to the tub.

 The wringer washing machine in the corner near the kitchen door. That machine earned its keep. Go figure.

 The side door I escaped through early one morning when Mom was napping with my baby brother. I can still see the small paper bag in my hand, the one with cookies tucked inside.

 My bedroom window where I first discovered a big star in the sky. As a child, I thought Baby Jesus lay under that star. Somewhere far, far away.

 The front step where the milkman delivered two glass bottles of milk. I can still see Mom scooping the cream off the top into her oatmeal bowl.

 And then the basement, where I played hide-and-seek.

I thanked the new owner of my childhood home. And with her permission, I walked around and behind the house to retrace my childhood steps.

In no time, I found myself up the slope and on the train tracks. On the opposite side of the tracks lies a steep embankment, overlooking the swiftly flowing Gatineau River. I see myself playing on the train tracks as a young child.

And then I looked for it. My special rock. The place where I sat and gazed across the river. And marvelled at how the diamonds danced on the water. Wonder of wonders, it was still there, after all these years. I sat down on the hard surface and breathed in deeply. There is a scent like no other by the river. If I close my eyes, I can hear the gentle water lapping against the shore even now. I ended my reverie with a brief walk up and down the one road that cut through my village.

A surreal experience. One I will never forget.

When I got home, the owner of the house kindly sent an old photo of what my childhood home looked like when I lived there.

The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen

or even touched—they must be felt with the heart.

~ Helen Keller