Memories From When I Was 6

To this day, I still hold vivid memories from when I was just a girl of 6.

I remember fishing in this pond.

My favourite pic from my childhood

I remember fishing there with a group of high school students. It began to rain and everyone ran back to the house for cover. I didn’t know what to do with my fishing rod so I stuck it into the soil, the bait and hook still in the water. After the rain, they found a fish struggling to be free of the hook! The sad part? Someone else (one of the high school students) laid claim to the fish. I was just a six-year old girl and no one believed me. But I know *I* caught that fish. At least, my fishing rod did.

I remember riding my tricycle. I had on a bead necklace and it got caught in the tricycle’s handlebars. The flimsy cord broke, scattering the beads in all directions.

I remember playing in this field of flowers.

My younger brother and I would gather the red ones, pound them with rocks, smear our hands with the red dye, run to our mother and playfully pretend we got wounded.

I remember staring at the books in a glass case in the library of the high school where my mother used to teach. How I longed to know the secrets behind those lines and squiggles called letters. How I longed to learn how to read.

I remember how excited I was to finally go to school. Because I thought I could finally learn how to read. Disappointment is too mild a term for what I felt when the teacher told me that, at 6 years old, I was still “too young to learn how to read.” Miss Victorillo, I still remember your name.

And wherever you are now, Miss Victorillo, if you can read this, I want you to know that all my children started reading at age 4. There is no such thing as “too young to learn how to read”, Miss Victorillo.

I remember this birthday party because I remember how perplexed I felt when I saw my younger brother holding a present, as well.

It was my birthday but he got a present, too. It just didn’t make sense to me.

I remember playing the part of a fairy but have no recollection of what I did or what I said, other than simply standing on stage, saying my line, then waving my ‘wand’.

But I know one thing for sure — at age 6, I didn’t know the meaning of stage fright.

I used to get bored every time ‘old’ people would regale me with tales of their youth or childhood. Now I find myself telling similar tales to my children (or to anyone who happens to be within hearing distance), sometimes even repeating the same old stories several times.

To think I’m not even that old yet. In fact, I don’t feel any different from when I was 24.  Only the mirror shows otherwise.

But as I was saying, I now find that it feels good to remember the good old days. And to share whatever lessons I learned along the way, some of which could have been taught to me, if only someone cared enough to tell me. But mostly, it feels good to simply remember…