Inspired by V.J.’s Weekly Challenge #61: Recovery
What does it mean to recover? What would full recovery look like, and is there such a thing? Recover from what?
~~~
Everything else you grow out of, but you never recover from childhood.
Beryl Bainbridge
Time to come in for dinner!
Whoops.
It became kind of a family joke when I was a kid – that I often ended up needing stitches on Thanksgiving…or Easter. Usually a holiday with visiting grandparents. More than once.
I’m not sure how many times it actually happened, but as I recall I’d be sent outside to play while the turkey was roasting. In my dressy clothes and patent leather shoes, I’d start running around like usual…climbing the monkey bars…swinging on the swings…riding my bike. Jump roping. Inevitably, without my “play shoes” on, I’d slip and fall. Many times on the cement patio or out in the street. Back then, we played in the street. Kickball. Baseball.
Before long there was blood everywhere…a huge gash on my chin, forehead or knee. At the same time the turkey was just about ready to carve.
I’d ruin the rest of the day as someone would have to take me to the Emergency Room – or the pediatrician’s office…who would be called in on a holiday (this was the 1950’s & ’60s…and they did that then) to stitch me up.
I obviously healed and recovered from the consequences of my holiday mishaps. The stitches were eventually removed. The scars faded, but remain….
I was branded for the duration of my childhood. My fearlessness and budding athleticism were not what a girl should be. My mother enrolled me in the “Junior Miss Club” when I was about 10…where I was supposed to learn how to be more ladylike. It met weekly after school and included practice walking with a book on my head. The goal was to keep it there. Boring as sin and to this day I am mystified at why that was a desirable skill. Ballet was almost as frustrating. Too slow and regimented. Baton twirling lessons were a disaster.
Girls who liked to play outside and get dirty and collect bees in jars and play baseball in the street were not “normal” girls. We were called tomboys. And grew up to prefer jeans to dresses. My poor mother desperately wanted me to be a normal daughter. She never got what she wanted, despite her heroic efforts. Which continued through my high school years.
Nobody has a perfect childhood. Nobody.
However, I have to believe some sort of recovery is possible…
Depending on the scars…
And how fast they heal.
one letter UP ~ diary 2.0 
It is amazing what “we” can recover from. Love this piece of writing, brings back some childhood memories.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you! I’m glad you liked it 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
I did and you are welcome!
LikeLiked by 1 person
I’m glad you survived childhood, ouch! Cute photo on your bike!!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks!
LikeLike
Your stories always conjure so many memories for me. I was a tomboy too, and though my mother didn’t know what to do with me, thank goodness she didn’t sign me up for etiquette lessons. My older sister, however; was a model, and I remember her doing the book on head thing for hours, lol.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Following a sister who is a model…just adds to the challenge of being a tomboy!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Haha. I always say that I became a tomboy because I had two older sisters who were always in front of the mirrors – no room for me, lol.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I had a younger sister like that LOL!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Well, I wasn’t really a tomboy, but not miss etiquette, either….rather stubborn and independent!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Stubborn and independent fits too 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Growing up…I sometimes wonder how we made it. I do know that, not having been allowed to be a child when technically I was one, I’m now making up for it–I live alone and I can be as silly as I wish anytime I wish! Great post as always 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
(I just found this comment in my spam folder!) Thanks so much 🙂 Living alone does have its advantages – and spontaneous silliness is definitely one of them!
LikeLike
Yep 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Very insightful look at your journey being different from other family members. Childhood is always a framework for one’s life. Wonderful photo of your younger years. ❤
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you. Yes, every sibling has a different childhood in a way. It sets the stage for all that comes after. Whether we like it or not!
LikeLiked by 1 person
I was a middle child between two brothers. Always yearned for a sister. Yes, whether we like it or not 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
I was/am the oldest of 5. Two younger sisters and two younger brothers. Very different personalities!
LikeLiked by 1 person
There is something about a childhood that allows for an adventure outside that matters more than a childhood behind a screen held in one’s hand. Bumps with bruises via cruises on bikes (with training wheels) is a wonderful way to learn balance and what not to do. I feel sorry for any kid who doesn’t get an opportunity to play. I’m glad you thrived and that you kept that adorable photo!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you. Playing outside made all the difference for me back then. Adventure and learning by consequences definitely matters. A screen in hand…not the same.
LikeLiked by 1 person