10:21 to be exact.
Birds are chirping, the wind is still.
73° F already.
I’m watching/listening to all of this through my front bedroom window. *The Blinds do not shut 100% since I have lived here, so the World is always there.
I decided to get back to Guided Meditation, but I could not find myself, so I just listened without the silence in my mind.
I started having flashes of my Childhood.
Happy Moments. *(Most were not).
I remember even living in the House of Horrors, there were times of joy.
As my memory traveled back to a place filled with darkness, I saw myself age 8-10.
Saturday mornings were always busy in my house. *Especially, during the Summer months. We had a Pool that needed constant maintenance and a field behind our own yard that needed up-keeping.
Those are the memories that filled my restlessness.
We were not allowed to “sleep-in,” so when it was time to get up, pajamas off, and dressed for the day.
Saturday’s usually meant Breakfast, playing outside *as asked to with the many neighborhood kids that surrounded us, and helping my Father with the Pool.
I loved being there, working along side with my Father. Even though I was terrified of him *(Violent), I knew he was always content when he was outside doing “something.”
I would help him sometimes for hours, forgetting I’m just a little kid! *(He thought of me as a boy).
But, I felt proud that I was his helper.
We talked a lot.
He would tell me stories about Panama, his time in Special Ops, his own Childhood(horrific), and how to fix things.
We would work on the Pool, skimming, Water Pump, Then if needed mowing the lawn (which he taught me how to and would let me do it by myself. With his supervision).
I felt lucky.
My Father spent time with me unlike some of the kids in our neighborhood, who had Dads, but a few of their Dads had better Jobs, so they stayed inside on Saturdays.
I spent more time with my Father then my Mother on Weekends.
And that’s what I did not comprehend.
Why is he so violent when I’m his helper?
If I wasn’t being his little helper (My Mother’s words), I would listen to music and play in my bedroom with my Paperdolls.
My favorite childhood toy of all time.
I actually have Journals, Stories of the Families I created.
The depth of detail in Characters is shocking. To look back and think I was 9 or 10 when I wrote that.
It was my way of escaping the pain from my day to day Childhood and the Trauma I experienced.
If we had to play outside, it was with the same group of kids. We had our own Saturday routine.
Ride Bikes, Hide and Seek, And if we could, play on someone’s Swing-Set/Jungle Gym.
We had one.
A typical metal Swing-Set:
Two swings and a small slide, so it was better when we could go over and tumble down the huge slides and swing to the sky on the larger wooden sets *(Two families in the neighborhood had these Swing-Sets, but were strange about kids playing on them).
During the Summer Months, My Father tried to BBQ on his Charcoal Grill as much as he could.
I secretly hated it.
I never ever like BBQ.
And it was always the same anyway,
BBQ Chicken or Hamburgers.
Dinner Time is when it would hit that I wanted to live in someone else’s Family (particular my Childhood Best-Friend, Amy. Or live with my Nagyapa aka Grandfather).
Even on Saturdays, fighting was always at the Dinner Table.
Either my little Brother was in trouble for poor table manners and not eating, money, and my Father spending too much time outside *(My Parents rarely did anything together/spent time together when I was a child).
Post Dinner, would be return to play outside(where I was free again) then baths then a small amount of television as a Family, then bed-time.
Those moments I can see as if it was yesterday, but are a life-time ago.
If I could return to those specific moments, with the future inside, I most definitely would have ran-away or tried harder to return and live with my Grandfather.
I did try to run-away multiple times.
First time, I was 7.
I actually hopped right out my bedroom window.
But, those are not the memories I want to close with today.
I will take the small cracks in time that made me feel happy (as every kid should) and keep them infinitely.
Those are true Childhood Dreams.