I learned my concept of time from my 10 year old self. She could not understand how grownups could
forget what it was like to be a child.
She worried about that when she turned 10. Ten was so old, you used all your fingers to
show your age.. you were too old to use your fingers to show your age. The first graders were small. Life was passing quickly, it was nearly over. I was really worried about how getting older
would change me. It seemed to me that
adults didn’t do anything that was fun.
They didn’t skate, they didn’t ride bikes, and they didn’t dam the creek
and trap tadpoles and crawdads. Now my
mother was saying I was too old to do things, like jump on the bed, or hide my
dirty clothes under it.
The day I turned 10 I hid in the cool space between the
cherry laurels and the house. I was as
depressed as a 10 year old can be about aging.
I thought forward to who I would be in another 10 years. It took my breath away. I’d be so old, then I thought about 30, 40,
and hit the impossible, 50. The 50 year
old me would be nearly dead, and not doing anything fun. She would never climb a tree. She would
certainly not remember me. I wondered..
could I make her remember me? Would it
matter? Would she be any different?
So she had an idea, she would save the day. She looked around at the shadows of the trees
on the brick of the house. She felt the
coolness of the dirt and looked up at the clouds above her. She “saved the day”. That’s what she called it. She
did it once in a while. She even
had a chant: “Now is now and then is
then”. The days she saved were not big
events, just ordinary times. Sitting in
class on a hot day with a sticky crinoline with a bulletin board of
agricultural products and the smell of the school sweeping compound in the
air. Tracing a shadow on butcher
paper. Running down the road at dusk
with a group of kids. The joy of climbing a tree.
When I was 50 I climbed a tree, just for her. I owed her.
I so like that little girl.
She raised me. She thought about
things and made choices that were mostly good.
She created in me a concept of myself as a continuum. I think of her as
a separate person who exists forever at points in time. I like her.
I wish I could go back sometimes and help her. Help her understand, give her a hug, ease her
worries.
She did a good job. I
do remember. I have the brilliant captured
moments of the boredom of a classroom, the joy of running at dusk after a hot
summer day. I have a perception of
myself that feels grounded yet separate.
And I am still looking out for that older me. The one who will be 80, that separate person
who will be me. I worry about her and
want to take care of her. To help her
the way that 10 year old helped me.
I like to travel, but I’m going to save some trips for
her. They won’t be hard, not Machu Picchu
or rafting the Colorado, but they will be full of wonder. I will save her something beautiful to see
for the first time. She can thank our
little friend for that. After all she
started it.
