Sunday, January 17, 2010

childhood memories

"Once upon a time, in a far away place a long time ago, a little boy of 8 said goodbye to his home at 22 Lachlan Avenue." What follows are the 34+ year old memories that came flooding back upon visiting the place where I spent seven years of my early childhood life.
The trip to NZ would not have been complete if I had not taken the time to visit my childood home. Thankfully my Mom remembered the address so I went to look it up on one of the many rainy days downunder. Initially, upon entering Dunedin, I did not find any memory stirring. Even passing though the Octagon, did not evoke any primitive nostalgia. Tall buildings had replaced the smaller, older buildings from 30 years ago. It was not until we started driving up the hill to the house that suddenly the familiarity emotions hit and memories started to flood back.

Driving half way up the hill towards the house I saw the starecase on my left where, as children, my brother and I would catch hedghogs and send them down tumbling down a steep gutter towards the walkway below. It was quite a mixed emotion, I felt the excitement of a primitive memory and yet felt repugnance at our cruelty.

Further up the road the house came into view. It was still standing. Not much has changed.
That lawn to the left is where we raised a lamb one spring. I think her name was Sally. Sally was not so bright and one day nearly choked to death after repeatedly twisting her chain around a downed tree branch that she apparently kept climbing up, jumping off, then recycling back under to repeat the process. As you can imagine the leash keeps getting shorter and shorter until a final jump and the front legs unable to touch the ground. She was found squirming uncomfortably in the yard after a trip to the store. Shortly there after, as Sally was no longer a lamb by this time, my parents transferred her to a farm to "live out the rest of her life in wide open spaces." (yea, right, I'm sure that what happened. Or was it a little lie told to sooth small children distraught with separation anxiety?).

In that same yard are the trees which occasionally came alive at night when a troupe of opposums moved in. These creatures are not at all like the ratty looking North American variety. They are a social marsupial from Australia that frequently traveled in groups. They are the size of a large cat, quite harry, with piggish-looking faces. Rather nocturnal, they create quite a racket at night with the squawking grunts and chortles. On more than a few nights, our father would wake us up for a midnight nature observation.

That path to the right heads off to a little stretch of woods. On a quite few afternoons, with probably more rain than shine, my brother and I would while away the afternoon building forts and playing in the bush.

Below we have a picture of the side of the house where Daddy would come home. We would all run out to greet him. Tigger, our little weener dog, would jump up and down, easily 5x the height of his body. Then when the opportunity was right, he would spring into the strong hands of my father.

Inside the house you see the front living room. This is the room where once I found the most ultimate of hiding places. Our frequent babysitter was Satish, one of my Dad's post docs. On a game of hide-n-seek, I was able to find a place so well hidden, in a small cardboard box tucked under the sewing supplies, that I distinctly remember the increasing worrying tone that built in his voice as he tried to find me. When ever he left the room to look for me somewhere else, I would yell his name and he would come running back in the room demanding, "Where are you?!!!" He never found me in that hiding place as I had to leave it to reveal myself.
Up the path that went into the woods was the route to my elementary school. On a deep seated memory (more intuition that specific memory), I drove right to the school, about five blocks away.
Here is the place with quite the treacherous playground. Almost nothing has changed. The tip of the slide you see would never be allow in the litigious USA. It curves down over 50 feet down the hill. With only one inch tall side rails it is quite easy to pitch off the side into the rocks. Something I did many times in my youth. My biggest medical adventure occurred down in the center yard. I was crawling over the tops of large posts that were serving as a retaining wall for the yard space enclosure. I slipped off the steep side and slammed head first into the rocks. Bleeding profusely from the head wound I was rushed off to the nurse, where my Mummy was called. I was rushed off to the hospital to receive 15 stitches (The first of many skull whacks I have received in my life)

With such formative grounds as this, it is no wonder that New Zealand boast itself as "The Bungee Jumping Capitol of the World."

No comments: