Hope Gottschling | Childhood’s Departure | Memoir

The past is gone, and youth is lost. My childhood is dead. I abruptly realize that I have changed, and I notice the differences between my younger self and I. As time passes and I grow older, my perspective has slowly shifted, and growing up seems to sometimes represent the struggle of slowly losing the sense of wonder that childhood provides. Every once in a while bittersweet nostalgia gently takes my hand and leads me down a path filled with reminiscence about my youth, where chores can transform to joyous delight and magic emanates from each precious memory. I remember the days, not too long ago, when a sink stacked high with unwashed dishes would lead to splashing in a sea of lemon scented bubbles and giggling with my mum in matching soapy beards. With amassing laundry, I anticipated the warm rhythm of the washing machine as my dad hoisted me up to see it spin a pile of clothes into a single, colorful streak. Outside, clouds would come to life with beautiful ballerinas and soaring dragons, and every rainbow came with the promise that someday we would search for the pot of gold at its end. Each steadfast daisy, growing between the bricks, begged to become a dainty flower crown and sit atop my golden curls. In my pink princess room, each stuffed toy had its own name and required a goodnight snuggle and kiss. And if I gathered enough onto my bed, then they would possess the power to ward off the monsters lurking in the dark corners of my bedroom while I slept. Any visit to the ocean shone with sunny days full of sandcastles, seashells, and swimming. And so my childhood passed in wondrous whimsy. Now, I silently spy as new children enjoy the same things I used to, but all too soon I notice I don’t find the fun in them anymore. Little more than a smelly stack of work, the dishes wait in the sink, and another arduous task grows alongside the laundry pile. Constructing sandcastles at the beach only mildly entertains me, and I secretly wish to soak up the sunshine and lie down with my book instead, in the same manner of every boring teenager I promised myself never to become. Although I want to enjoy racing amidst the golden flickers of the lightning bugs dancing in the night, all I find myself chasing is the final dregs of youthful light. Time tears my childhood from my clenched fingers, and as it slips away, I find myself sputtering for air, suffocating, unable to breathe. I am no longer the same. Through the people I have lost, the places that I miss, and the things I have outgrown, I have slowly changed. I can never again scrape my knees climbing the cherry tree that my grandfather planted so tenderly in his yard, or listen to the chatter of the birds that he tended with such care. He is gone, and with him, a piece of me is too. We have moved out of the neighborhood with the brilliant blue swimming pool and awesome water slides, and very seldom do we visit our old favorite ice cream shop. As I have grown, my bedroom has too, and the stuffed toys and picture books have all but disappeared, replaced with schedules and study guides that decorate the walls. It feels as though, as I grow up, I lose some of the joy that makes life so wonderful. However, in truth I may not have lost anything at all. No, I may not be the same, but that is not some terrible tragedy. Life changes constantly, in breathtaking splendor, flowing like a river through lazy pools and icy rapids. With time, I have discovered new joy to make me happy, and I cannot force myself into the past. Even so, I still experience moments caught in between the rush of day that bring me youthful joy. I still find serenity in the music of the pouring rain, as it gently eases me to sleep. Still, the warmth of freshly popped popcorn, and the sound of each kernel perfectly springing into the bowl melts my heart like butter. And I still race from the dryer with clean blankets in hand, eager to cocoon myself in their all encompassing warmth. These subtle moments of life and laughter fill me with euphoria and childlike wonder. So, maybe my childhood is dead, but that does not mean that wonder has departed too. Instead, joy has followed me from rainbows to rainfall, and stuffed toys to warm blankets, always peeking out just around the corner. Despite my affliction with moving on, I have discovered that growing up just means finding the joy in life, no matter how old I become.