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My entry for the journaling challenge this month... This November I got to see my parents after more than two years, and yes, the visit brought back many memories, but it seems the older I get, the more I realize just how lucky I am because of all the things I don't remember - and by that I mean all the things that never happened - quarreling, arguing, family drama, petty comments, gossip... - all the things I learned later in life my parents had been shielding us from.
Journaling reads:
One of the most amazing things about my childhood is that I grew up believing my life was perfect. We had pancakes for dinner and Saturday trips to the airport to look at planes, I spent weekends at my grandmother's and summers at the cottage. It wasn't until years later that I learned of my parents' financial struggles and tensions with in-laws.
Although I remember being loved and cared for, I have very few recollections of what my life was as a child. My very first memory is from when I was three years old - younger than I am in the photo on this page. It is around Christmas time and I am holding a bowl of ice-cold water as my mother is wiping blood from my baby brother's face after some sort of an accident. It must be because of this memory that I vividly remember the small two-room flat on the eighth floor we lived in and that the four of us slept in the smaller room, the bedroom - which sounded super grand, especially considering that we - the kids - were not allowed to play in there. I can still see the tiny entrance hall where I used to wait for my dad to come home so I could tell him of the myriad ways my younger brother had annoyed me that day, and after all these years his voice still echoes in my head - and what did you do to annoy him? I remember dancing with my mom and how she loved brushing my hair. But somehow I don't remember the crocodile that was my favorite toy...
My parents did the most amazing job protecting my brother and me from all the family drama unfolding around us and I hope to follow in their steps.
