Funny how bits and pieces of your childhood comes afresh in your mind whether you're reading or watching a scene in a show or listening to certain songs that takes you back somewhere in your life and reminds you all over again of distinctive persons, places and incidents. It was such this morning when I was reading Garrison Keillor's "Good Poems for Hard Times". A piece by Phebe Hanson, "Somewhere I'll find you". Every now and then I feel like a little modern poetry so I grab the book and read randomly. Mr. Keillor says that it's, "A book to be put on the kitchen table or the bedside table or the toilet tank, (and that's exactly where I was) where you can keep running into it."
There was one particular family in my neighborhood back in the island, where the father was the village's "head minister" (stake president). They had about 11 children and all were forbidden to set foot inside any movie theaters, dances or anything that wasn't spiritually uplifting. They were advised that it was sinful and evil so they were tabooed. It seemed to me their only entertainment was going to church on Sundays and it sure made me glad I had my parents. Both my parents were notorious movie goers and entertainment seekers. My father especially made childhood fun and unforgettable. Movies on weekends, picnics, swimming, visits to friends or relatives, drive around the island, or trip to his work. He'd take us riding on his tractors, plows, excavators and catterpillars.
Well, typical of one bonded with mental shackles and chains, their daughter naturally became rebellion. She'd never come inside the dances or theaters but she'd be climbing the trees outside the buildings peeking in. She was often caught smoking, drinking and Lord only knows where she got such stuff from. Even making out somewhere in the bush with different boys. My ex-boyfriend was one of them. (Before he became my boyfriend) Of course we'll hear all about it because we had such a tiny village that if you dare to sneeze, everyone will hear. The whole village knows when she's being disciplined because she'll get a good licking with the belt outside their yard. So when she yelps in pain, mostly everyone knows why and those that didn't wondered what she'd done now. To this day she has yet to recover. She's still rebellion. Problem marriage, hasn't settled down, partying and clubbing and still giving the parents hell. May be someday, somewhere, she'll find herself. But the reading this morning took me back to those days of childhood plays and a carefree life. Her name was Eita (Edith) in English and that girl can raise hell anywhere everytime.
I remember, one day going to see if she can play. (Her mother sometimes was unable to hide her disapproval when I'd come to their house. She thinks I should be home doing chores and not come around to distract their daughter from hers) Eita was sweeping out this filthy dirt mixture of trash with water and then picking it up with her bare hands all muddy and watery. I was groused out but she seemed to have read my mind. So she looked at me pointedly and said, "My mom said as long as it was not (sh--) that it's ok to pick it up 'cause you can always wash your hands after". I remember that to this day.