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We grew up in worlds that no longer exist.
A world where childhood reigned supreme. A world where our worlds were not circumscribed by fears of creepy people doing creepy things to kids [for the most part].Even in places of worship. A world where we frolicked at will, before school, after school and all day and all night long during the summer holidays. A world pre-dating technological hand games, virtual and augmented realities, and where we lived inside our own imaginations, inventing games, games and more games. And, when we wanted a bit of normality, there were always pick-up football games [aka soccer in these parts] waiting in the wings.
And there was only a one ring circus...thankfully.
That is the world we wish to remember...and celebrate in the month of November.
A world about children in the past tense of our memories; a world where innocence pivoted between the vagaries of 'good and evil' ; and a world where catchers in the rye were completely unnecessary.
And, just to whet your appetite..
Children have a straightforward and uncomplicated way of telling the truth, especially when you least expect it. JD Salinger chronicled this axiom only too well, especially in his memorable book of short stories[see below]. And we adults aren't always ready for it...time come ready or not.
The other day I was in my favorite coffee house when a beautiful young mother walked in followed by an equally stunning little girl. Heads turned, mostly for the young mother. I fixed on the little girl--her mixture of seriousness and playfulness reminded me of the little girl in A Perfect Day for Bananafish.* She sat down next to me and focused her attention on this piece of fabric she was clutching. She exuded a focus and presence that would soon, in all probability, be lost.
Her mother handed her a small glass of milk along with a biscotti. The little girl ate and drank with only one hand; the other hand all the while clutching the mysterious fabric. The mother noticed that I was watching, smiled and said: 'She never goes anywhere without it..."
I smiled an avuncular smile. 'Everyone should have such a loyal companion,' I offered by way of reply.
'It's my blankie,' the little girl confirmed.
'It's her blankie....she calls it Haber...' the mother added, by way of explanation.
A wave of childhood swept over me at that moment, memories racing back and forth and flooding my mind.
'She seems very attached,' I observed, stating the obvious. 'That's the trouble with us adults...we've lost our blankie..' I confessed freely.
' I know. I miss mine.....my blankie that is....I mean really miss it!' she admitted with equal parts frankness and astonishment.
Her eyes misted over.
She smiled as she wiped her eyes. 'Well, we have to go to a gymnastics lesson.....it was nice talking to you.....'
They got up to leave.
I tried to thank her for the insight but my voice choked.
Choked by a loss 'too deep for tears.......'**
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* one of the stories in Salinger's aforementioned book
**borrowed from Wordsworth's Ode: Intimations of Immortality
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