When I was a little girl, I was a complete weirdo.
I very much preferred the company of adults (specifically senior citizens) because they were smarter, had better stories and indulged me. I thought other children were loud, dumb and couldn't take direction. I had a big, wild imagination and I thought other children were near-sighted and didn't bring much to the table. I wasn't mean to them, I just sort of stayed away. In my comfort zone. This is all true, I assure you. I was a freak. In the best way.
I enjoyed conventional toys, but usually not in the way they were meant to be played. I liked Barbies, but I thought they were too big to do anything cool. I enjoyed taking random pieces of my Grandma's material and making them "wrap dresses". I was DVF before I ever knew it!! I loved my Muppet figurines, but I would build them houses out of different household items. I made the raddest condos out of VHS tapes and Sesame Street books. My architecture was Grade A. I was the Frank Lloyd Wright of the 2nd grade and I was totally unaware.
I was completely obsessed with Legos. I mean obsessed. Beyond. I loved to build. I would get the theme Lego sets (Robin Hood was my fave) and I would first build the models to scale using the instructions, but after a while playing that way, I'd reconstruct the fortresses exactly the way I wanted them. How I didn't grow up and seek out an engineering degree is a frickin tragedy.
The point I was coming to is starting to get lost as I reminisce about my toys....my parents and grandparents and older sister really championed my insanity. I never realized how valuable that was until I grew up and could look back. They didn't even necessarily spur me on, but they were patient with me, I was obsessive compulsive and they really tried to deal. They told me I was weird, but that weird was good. They told me I was smart and they let me have these insane play structures all around our house. They kept art supplies flowing, the told me my drawings were amazing. I remember hearing my mother talk about me to her friends as if she thought I was a genius. I loved it. I never thought about what was "normal" or worried about what I looked like or things looked like. I just wanted it to be fun and functional and specific to my imagination. I was a perfectionist in my play craft. I really was. The more accolades I received from my loved ones, the more I liked to impress them with my next adventure in play.
As I grew older, the trappings of adolescence took hold. Insecurities sprung from their normal places and I started to lose my imagination. I discovered boys and popularity and all the pitfalls that came with those. Again, I didn't realize it at the time, but I was conforming more and more to what people thought I should be. I was lucky enough to know my peers my entire life, so I maintained shreds of weirdness here and there, but never the freedom of expression of my early childhood. Never.
Sometimes it makes me sad when I can pinpoint the moments that started to wash away my former nerdy, confident self, but mostly, I just feel very, very lucky that I had a family and friends who cheered me on, showered me with love, understanding and compliments on my creativity. They let me be who I was and they told me that person was great. Even when I was very sick and probably very scary looking, there were no comments on my appearance, there were no looks of fear in their eyes, they kept me focused outward and kept my spirits as high as my self-opinion. The me reflected on their faces was special and made them happy. Even when I was too tired or weak to play, they'd snuggle up next to me and put crayons and paper in my lap so I could keep making things. I must have exhausted them and they never let it show.
The only way I can ever think to repay them is doing the same with the people around me and hopefully, my children some day.
No comments:
Post a Comment