Beanies, for this Makjang Monday, I come to you with stories of my childhood and my selective memory that likes to over dramatize the scary things. I’m blessed to be alive!
(I have to preface this by saying that I have a horrible memory. I have good short-term memory retention where I can learn something and pick it up pretty quickly, but my long-term memory is pretty iffy. My childhood is a blur and the only things I remember are those that are on camera or that someone shared with me and we have talked about it. But the standouts in my childhood memories are the not so good things.)
I don’t remember this, but when I was a baby, before turning one, I was really sick with bronchitis. My parents took me to the doctor, of course, but in my parents’ eyes, I wasn’t getting any better. Now, if you live close enough to the border like I do, you will find that many people cross it all the time to get treated there. With the encouragement of family and acquaintances, my mother decided to entrust me to my father, who took me to Mexico to get treated. Now, I love my dad, but my mom must have been desperate! He is someone who needs his wife. He was younger and sprier back then, but he is someone who needs constant care and not exactly the type to take care of others. I’m sure he was not going to let anything happen to me, but, oh my goodness, my mom had some strong faith that I was going to come back alright. I thankfully got better and came home safely. Phew!
At the present, I alternate between taking care of a one year old and a two year old and let me tell you, I never let my eyes leave them. Why? Because besides being kind of paranoid, I know the trouble that children can get into, since I have many of those stories myself. For example, do you know how many apartments have fences and doors with steel bars on them. And how easy it is for a child to get their head stuck in between two bars? I should know because I once got my head stuck between two bars when I was three and the firefighters had to come to stretch the bars to let me out. Do you know the saying on how easy it is to steal candy from a child? Well, that might be too mean, but why steal candy from a child when it’s much easier to steal their gold necklace if you offer them said candy. I mean, for this I blame my parents for leaving me alone with a gold necklace, but I guess it was their pride that they could afford one for their child. Good thing the only thing lost was the necklace and not me, right?! Do you know one of the most dangerous things you can do as an adult to a child? It is putting something a small child really, really wants in a high place where they can see it. It is especially bad if you put it on top of a dresser because the child will then use the drawers as stairs and make the whole dresser fall on top of them and let the expensive jaguar decoration fall and break into a million pieces. All of these things happened to me before the age of four, so you bet that my eyes are glued to the babies I take care of.
After a while, I stopped putting my life in danger as it was now my younger brother’s turn. We both couldn’t give my mom headaches, so I matured. Still, there are some questionable things I remember. Like when I was in first grade, our class was taking a trip to the public library. You know how teachers like to give you a buddy and you hope that it’s your best friend, but its never them. I was a goody goody in school so, of course, the teacher paired me up with the troublemaker of the class. We had many parents volunteering and helping us out, but I guess we were still a lot of kids to handle. We were going to walk to the trolley station from the school and ride the trolley to the library. When the trolley arrived, the class filed in, but the doors closed right when it was my partner’s and I turn. We were the only ones left outside of the trolley, and all the chaperones were already inside. I could see the teacher starting to freak out and I started to do so as well. But I do remember thinking that I would just head back to school if something happened. Thankfully, the doors opened and we made it to the library and back safely. I have no idea what the library looked like, but I do remember that incident. I think that I tend to remember the difficult times more vividly than the nicer ones because they are linked to anxiety. There were many times that I chose to forget because those memories were hard on me and I guess that made me forget the fun times amongst those hard times as well. Like, I still remember my first anxiety attack. I wasn’t feeling well the whole day, and when my dad and uncle got home drunk, I suddenly felt worse. They were happy drunks, but, still, to see them in an altered state made me feel panicked. It was made worse by the fact my mom yelled at them for making me feel that way. It was a long time before I had another anxiety attack, but I still remember my first one. Thankfully, I am now pretty boring and nothing too outrageous happens to me and I am glad to have made it through my childhood alright.
13
0
Modal title
Modal title
Modal title
Modal title
A verification email has been sent to your new email address.
Please click the link in that email to complete the email change process.
Modal title
Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetuer adipiscing elit,
sed diam nonummy nibh euismod tincidunt ut laoreet dolore magna
Jellybn
September 23, 2019 at 5:19 PM
Beanies, for this Makjang Monday, I come to you with stories of my childhood and my selective memory that likes to over dramatize the scary things. I’m blessed to be alive!
Jellybn
September 23, 2019 at 5:20 PM
(I have to preface this by saying that I have a horrible memory. I have good short-term memory retention where I can learn something and pick it up pretty quickly, but my long-term memory is pretty iffy. My childhood is a blur and the only things I remember are those that are on camera or that someone shared with me and we have talked about it. But the standouts in my childhood memories are the not so good things.)
I don’t remember this, but when I was a baby, before turning one, I was really sick with bronchitis. My parents took me to the doctor, of course, but in my parents’ eyes, I wasn’t getting any better. Now, if you live close enough to the border like I do, you will find that many people cross it all the time to get treated there. With the encouragement of family and acquaintances, my mother decided to entrust me to my father, who took me to Mexico to get treated. Now, I love my dad, but my mom must have been desperate! He is someone who needs his wife. He was younger and sprier back then, but he is someone who needs constant care and not exactly the type to take care of others. I’m sure he was not going to let anything happen to me, but, oh my goodness, my mom had some strong faith that I was going to come back alright. I thankfully got better and came home safely. Phew!
Jellybn
September 23, 2019 at 5:21 PM
At the present, I alternate between taking care of a one year old and a two year old and let me tell you, I never let my eyes leave them. Why? Because besides being kind of paranoid, I know the trouble that children can get into, since I have many of those stories myself. For example, do you know how many apartments have fences and doors with steel bars on them. And how easy it is for a child to get their head stuck in between two bars? I should know because I once got my head stuck between two bars when I was three and the firefighters had to come to stretch the bars to let me out. Do you know the saying on how easy it is to steal candy from a child? Well, that might be too mean, but why steal candy from a child when it’s much easier to steal their gold necklace if you offer them said candy. I mean, for this I blame my parents for leaving me alone with a gold necklace, but I guess it was their pride that they could afford one for their child. Good thing the only thing lost was the necklace and not me, right?! Do you know one of the most dangerous things you can do as an adult to a child? It is putting something a small child really, really wants in a high place where they can see it. It is especially bad if you put it on top of a dresser because the child will then use the drawers as stairs and make the whole dresser fall on top of them and let the expensive jaguar decoration fall and break into a million pieces. All of these things happened to me before the age of four, so you bet that my eyes are glued to the babies I take care of.
Jellybn
September 23, 2019 at 5:21 PM
After a while, I stopped putting my life in danger as it was now my younger brother’s turn. We both couldn’t give my mom headaches, so I matured. Still, there are some questionable things I remember. Like when I was in first grade, our class was taking a trip to the public library. You know how teachers like to give you a buddy and you hope that it’s your best friend, but its never them. I was a goody goody in school so, of course, the teacher paired me up with the troublemaker of the class. We had many parents volunteering and helping us out, but I guess we were still a lot of kids to handle. We were going to walk to the trolley station from the school and ride the trolley to the library. When the trolley arrived, the class filed in, but the doors closed right when it was my partner’s and I turn. We were the only ones left outside of the trolley, and all the chaperones were already inside. I could see the teacher starting to freak out and I started to do so as well. But I do remember thinking that I would just head back to school if something happened. Thankfully, the doors opened and we made it to the library and back safely. I have no idea what the library looked like, but I do remember that incident. I think that I tend to remember the difficult times more vividly than the nicer ones because they are linked to anxiety. There were many times that I chose to forget because those memories were hard on me and I guess that made me forget the fun times amongst those hard times as well. Like, I still remember my first anxiety attack. I wasn’t feeling well the whole day, and when my dad and uncle got home drunk, I suddenly felt worse. They were happy drunks, but, still, to see them in an altered state made me feel panicked. It was made worse by the fact my mom yelled at them for making me feel that way. It was a long time before I had another anxiety attack, but I still remember my first one. Thankfully, I am now pretty boring and nothing too outrageous happens to me and I am glad to have made it through my childhood alright.