Childhood Memories By Chris Ann Smith

This post is an essay my mother wrote while attending Evergreen College in the 1990's. Her wish for her daughters shared at the end of the essay is poignant and has come to fruition. That she is a part of so many of our precious memories makes this essay all the more touching to me.

My Mother, Chris Ann

Childhood Memories

By

Chris Ann Smith

September 26, 1946 – May 21, 1994

At times, each of us thirst for the warm pleasant remembering of things past that take us back to a time of innocence and security, a time of new family traditions, and an era of eager learning of all that surrounds our world. These keepsakes remembrances tucked in a corner of our souls are forever a part of us – memories that will never be duplicated, only rerun as a memorial to former times.  For me, each of my recollections is accompanied by different feelings and sensations.  As I reflect, it’s as if I’m reliving the experience through the emotional responses that escort each memory.

At two years old, blond, blue-eyed, thin and scrawny, I never walked when I could run; and, I was seldom speechless even if I didn’t have anything to say. My curiosity and inquisitiveness kept me busy exploring while my parents invariable chased me.  One of my earliest memories is of food – blackberry pie to be specific.  My taste buds react to the sugary sweetness of a freshly baked blackberry pie as I remember eating the whole pie without using silverware.  I can still feel the enthusiasm and eagerness as I put my face in the middle of the juicy berries and proceeded to eat the entire pie and finish by licking the pie pan to a shine.

Last year, I asked my Dad to help me put this memory into a setting.  He said, “That’s easy.  I took you on the construction site with me and there was a pie shop around the corner.  I’d buy you a pie for lunch.”  “But why don’t I remember silverware?”  He smiled and replied, “I never gave you a spoon.  You’d eat too fast.  Giving you just the pie always kept you busy so I could work.”  To this day, I love any kind of berry pie, but I would never have the abandon to eat the pie the way I did when I was two years old.

The "Boat"

At three years of age, independence, eager anticipation of an adventure, and power were experienced when I received my first “boat.”  There was a lighthouse, lots of water, a salty taste in my mouth and a multitude of boats when I begged my father for my very own boat.  I felt so grown-up as I climbed into my little square boat.  My knees pulled up tight to my chest, I waved to everyone on the shore as my Dad pushed me out into the bay in my new special boat – a cardboard box.  For a few minutes, I was the captain of my ship feeling special and very grown-up. It didn’t take long for my adventure to end as the cardboard absorbed the water and my great ship started filling with water.  I don’t remember the rescue, but I’m sure someone brought me back to the sandy shore just before my “boat” went under.

Every child looks forward to the circus – I was no exception.  My unforgettable adventure was a quest to see, hear and smell all the sights and sounds of this traveling menagerie.  My seat in the Big Top was at the end of an aisle only a few rows up from the stage.  My Dad sat next to me and next to him the other eight people in our group, but my seat was the best. The bench was hard as I shifted and fidgeted waiting for the beginning of the most exciting adventure in my entire life. Then, my eyes opened wide as the biggest and most colorful clown I’d ever seen started walking toward me.  My smile was ear to ear as I held my breath hoping and wishing the clown would see me.  He saw me.  Fireworks went off as this childhood idol gave me a can of peanuts.  These weren’t ordinary peanuts – these were CLOWN peanuts. I knew that nothing in my life would compare with this moment.  My Dad took the special one-of-a-kind can and opened it for me.  Of course, he took some peanuts first.  Then, he passed this unique container of clown peanuts to the other people in our group.  I protested saying that these were mine.  The clown gave them to me. But, I was reprimanded and reminded to share, so I nervously and eagerly waited for my special peanuts to get back to me.  A few moments later, my special world came to an end as I looked into the vacant, uninhabited can – not one clown peanut was left.  I can still feel the emptiness inside.  I’ve reminded my Dad about the special clown peanuts several times in the past few years.

Last year, I invited my Dad to the circus.  I hadn’t been back since the clown peanut incident.  My dad surprised and embarrassed me by asking a clown to come up to me and give me some peanuts.  It was a cellophane package, not a can.  But, this small package was “sent” to me with a lot of love and a plea never to mention the “clown peanuts” again.

Many of my special memories are of the times spent with my father.  He loved exciting hobbies, and whenever possible, I became his shadow.  Thoughts of boating, skiing, driving three-quarter midget race cars, go-carts, and flying antique airplanes awaken memories of a special childhood.  Nothing was ordinary; the unusual was normal.

At ten years old, my first airplane ride with my father was unique.  The butterflies in my stomach were working overtime as I anticipated my long-awaited flight.  As I looked at the huge yellow biplane, I tried to act as if I knew what to do while I waited for the other pilots to prepare me for the flight. As my Dad pre-flighted and prepared the plane, I was given a parachute.  Two pilots helped me put the cumbersome parachute over my shoulders and fasten the buckles.  As they let go and stood back, I unceremoniously plopped down on the ground. The parachute must have weighed twice as much as me and standing was a challenge.  As they laughed at me, they pulled me to my feet by the shoulder straps. A helmet and goggles were added next. Now, it was time to climb into the plane.  One problem – I couldn’t move.

It took three men to pick me up and put me in the front cockpit of the plane. After shoulder straps and a seat belt were fastened, I was ready to start my adventure.  I did have one question for my Dad though.  I yelled back to him, “How do I use the parachute?” His reply, “Don’t worry about it. If anything happens, you’ll fall out of the chute.”  He then started the engine.  My confidence was a little shaky at this point, but the aerobatic flight filled with loops, hammerheads, rolls and stalls was the beginning of a lifelong love of flying.

Memories are a precious gift – a heritage from our family and friends. All my adventures are unique and priceless to me – some create special feelings and a smile, others bring tears and sadness.  I hope my children have special remembrances that they can think about and share with others, whenever they need to feel good about themselves or just remember family and friends.