A late childhood

Several people have written how it's never to late to have a good childhood. In some ways they are correct (given you have the option). And who better than you to give it to yourself? Who knows what you really want, once we realize that Santa doesn't?

Oh, sure, my folks often got it right because my brother and I were verbose in our desires, and our desires were fairly simple. We both got our 10-speed bikes. I got books. He got cars. Now, I also got Barbie, who I hated with a passion. And the year i asked for a stereo, my brother got the stereo and I got a small TV, which I had no use for, not being at all interested in watching TV in my room (it ended up in our camper for camping trips).

My childhood was fairly decent, except for the fear of being with my cousin, the fear of all the me-improvements my aunts would initiate every time we had a family get together, the fear of a variety of school bullies who recognized the victimized part of me ... a little too much fear for a truly good childhood. Unfortunately, I'm still experiencing rather a lot of fear for a truly good adulthood.

But maybe giving myself a new childhood, free of fear, will alleviate at least some of the adult fears. Thus, I think it's time for a plan. Okay, maybe making a plan for a second childhood is rather antithetical and a little ridiculous. How about an un-plan, which sounds a bit Peter Pan-ish?

For example, clean up my rooms. If they are clean, I'll have room to play with my toys. Note: get some toys. I'll have room to dance around and be a goof.

Also, go outside, even if it's just a short walk. Or go sit on the dock nearby and draw.

Write stories that are goofy and have no plot.

At first, I might actually need to remind myself to play and have fun. I might have to schedule it. I hope that the simple pleasures and joys will take on a life of their own and I won't need to remind myself.

In the past, I have been silly and goofy, even as an adult. I have a whimsical nature, when it isn't in hiding due to the simple fear of going stone-broke. I've even been given the best of all compliments by a pair of 9-year-old cousins, when I was about 30. 

I'd been playing outside with one or both all afternoon until they'd worn me out. So I told them I was done for now and was going inside. They wanted to know why. I told them I was tired and besides, I wanted to hang out with the adults. They couldn't fathom why I'd want to do that, so I explained that I was an adult. At which they went into giggles and said "No you're not!" Best. Compliment. Evah.

I need to spend time with kids again; they are my preferred peer group and we get each other. It's also a good way to remind myself to be like a child. In the good ways, like finding awe in simple things and laughing just because life is funny, not in the bad way like stomping my feet and crying because I can't have my way. Of course, those behaviors have something to recommend them, too.

So here's to toy dinosaurs and LEGO castles and Star Wars figurines, to play-doh and water colors and coloring books. To staring up at the stars and down at the dirt. To painting my nails all different colors because I can and to then giggling at them because they are funny.

It might be time to pick up a DVD of old Bugs Bunny cartoons, too!

Night-night