Like a Child

Sometimes my whole being wants to be a child again. 

This morning, I was walking downhill, on Liberty Street, in Ann Arbor, heading for the Y to swim.  A woman had a young toddler by the hand and they were walking uphill, my way.

She had her coat open (notable on this terribly cold, windy day) and her hat was crooked on her head.  She was no more than two feet taller than him. 

He had on a waist-length jacket, brown with buttons, bulging from his darling, fat, little belly.  I saw his shirt and t-shirt and his too-tight jeans clearly, because by holding her hand, he had his arm straight up in the air, making his jacket pull up from his waist.

He was no older than eighteen months, had a wide smile on his chubby, baby face and was looking in every direction at once.  It was apparently difficult for him to climb this hill with his arm straight up, holding her hand.

“You’re going to have to learn how to walk straight pretty soon.” she said harshly.

“I wonder if this child even knows what the word straight, means?” I thought, as I laughed to myself.  “And is straight the best way for a little tike to walk up the hill? Or even for adults?”

As I write, it still makes me smile to see the independence and innocence of this little boy.  He wasn’t going to let his eyes miss a thing, as he walked zig-zag, past me, up the hill.  I wanted to shrink down to his size and see what his eyes and happy heart were seeing.   

When I got in the swimming pool at the Y, I kept in mind what my senses and adult brain often miss.  Swimming on my back, looking way up at the pool ceiling, I remembered, I loved to pretend I could walk up on the ceiling, when I was a kid.  I imagined what it would be like to go in and out of the doors, how I’d see through the windows, what I’d have to climb over to walk around.  I took the time to let my imagination wander again.  It felt good. Peaceful.

On my way home, I looked for thin pieces of ice covering mud puddles, I could step on. I wanted to hear the unique, crackling sound it makes.  I even kicked a chunk of ice down the sidewalk, a few times and listened to the icy-clunky sound, as it skipped down the sidewalk ahead of me. 

Why should he learn adult ways so soon?  Let him be a child.  Let him think, walk, talk and smile like a child.  He may be our future inventor.  His play and uninhibited ways help his brain grow in a manner allowing him to think on his own.  No barriers, restraints or rules, keeping him from thinking.  Just imaginative play. 

Ah……for the days when I use to swing on the chain in the back yard and sing all by myself.  Or skate alone, on the rink across the back alley from our house, on Truckey Street.  Or swim at the marina, just as the sun was going down, feeling the shadows all around me.  Hoping I wouldn’t be told, “It’s getting dark, you better get out of the water.”

Take a minute or two and think.  

Was it a special piece of wood, you pretended was a gun?  

A hole of mud or sand you played in forever?  

The melting ice-river you spent hours creating?  

Your favorite climbing tree? 

The thing you called a “fort” in the woods? 

The porch step, dock or old tree stump, you spent hours sitting on, thinking?

The beach or lake you learned how to skip a rock? 

How long has it been, since you’ve let your mind wander and visit those places in your memory?

Mom’s fruit salad with small marshmallows.  

Mr. Neelis’s warm, home-made donuts.  

The thin, snappy host we’d hope would come off the roof of our mouths.  

The fried spam Dad cooked when mom was gone.  

The freshly cut potatoes, frying in butter, in the backyard pit?

 Fresh carrots pulled up from the garden and wiped off on pants before munching.  The season’s first watermelon, rhubarb, green apples, plums and pears.

The spring-smell of lilacs.  

The dark smell of the Chief, coming or leaving from the bay.  

Loaves of bread, coming out of the oven.  

Turpentine, wood stains and sawdust scent drifting up from the basement.  

The smell  of dry clothes taken off the clothes-line in the back yard.

I may go to this place more often.  It sure does make my muscles relax and my mind rest.  I’m also hungry.  Sure wish I had some of Mom’s hot, home-made applesauce. Mmm…..